The Unicorn
by Drachesky
Summary: Steve is bored. Bored Steve is bad. Danny gets desperate and decides they really need is a case- any case, at any cost. Rated T for language and some whump. See Author's Note for individual chapter warnings.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**

 **-To see the inspiration for this story, google "California Highway Patrol Unicorn."**

 **-Every summer, movie studios release a slew of action-adventure films that aren't Oscar-winning dramas but instead rake in the cash just for being exciting and fun. That's the idea behind this story: It's not great (but hopefully it's not bad), and it's just meant to be a fun adventure with two bickering heroes in the blistering Hawaiian sunshine.**

 **But unlike the summer blockbusters, this one is set in the winter. Not that you'd notice. Cause it's pretty much the same.**

Prologue

"Hey brah. Howzit?"

"Hey Chin." Danny Williams cast a cautious glance out his office window. "How long did you say you and Kono would be gone again?"

"Ten days. And we've only been gone for a few, so what's wrong?"

"It's our fearless leader."

"Ah," Chin replied knowingly. "What did Steve do now?"

…

"Duke, Danny Williams here… Hi, fine, how are you?... Yeah, okay, about that-" Danny glanced nervously through the blinds in his office to confirm his partner was still preoccupied with the not-so-accidentally-leaking coffee pot in the break room. "Duke, we need a case… Yeah, I don't care, any case. Just give us the next case that comes in."

Danny turned away from the window and threaded a frustrated hand through his hair. "Why? Cause my partner is driving everyone crazy, that's why. He's a crazy, cooped-up animal who needs something to do before he turns feral and kills me. He almost shot me this morning and- what? No, I don't want to file a report. … Yeah, no, throwing Steve in lockup wouldn't really help, I don't think. Probably do more harm than good, at least to anybody else who's in lockup with him…. What happened? Nothing happened. All I did was make the mistake of tapping him on the shoulder."

What Danny didn't tell Duke was that Steve's behavior was also straining their friendship. Irritable and jumpy, Steve had snapped at Kono last week for a stray pen left on the smart table and growled at Chin for the delay on their requisition forms. When Danny had tried to gently chide him, Steve had jumped down his throat, too.

" _If boredom affects you this badly, then explain to me how on earth you survive on a ship in the middle of the friggen ocean for months at a time?!" Danny had demanded to know_.

" _That's completely different," Steve huffed. "A Navy ship is not a cruise liner, Danny. We have to keep the ship running and operating by ourselves, from cooking to cleaning the toilets. Add to that our PT schedule, training, and drills, and there's just enough time left to eat and sleep. And sometimes not even that."_

Danny plopped down in the chair behind his desk. Through the windows in the lobby, he saw Steve hold up a wad of soggy paper towels and gesture angrily. Danny shrugged an apology and gestured back at his phone. With a soundless huff, Steve turned sharply on his heel and returned to the breakroom.

"I know, Duke, trust me, I _know_. It's been almost a month with no bombs, no terrorists, and no international incidents. I mean, I appreciate the criminals taking a hiatus and all, but it's not helping Hyper Hulk, if you catch my drift. And the cousins are on Molokai, so his usual sparring partner- Kono- is absent. He's been hiking already, done every trail on the island, camping, fishing, surfing, swimming, sailing, you name it, but none of those really fit the bill, you know?" He tilted his head, following Steve's progress as his partner made another trip to the storage closet for a fresh roll of paper towels.

"No, I tried that. He doesn't do vacations like the rest of us." Danny twirled a pen absently between his fingers as Duke offered up suggestions. "No, good grief, that would be a disaster. I'm worried about _my_ safety here. The man needs to either shoot something or blow something up, preferably both."

Danny paused as Steve marched across the bullpen to his office and began rummaging through the cabinets. Probably duct tape, Danny thought, to fix the coffee pot. He would have snickered, but after the incident this morning, it wasn't quite funny.

"His reserves training isn't for another several weeks, unfortunately," he told Duke on the other end of the phone. "I've got him distracted this morning with a busted coffee pot, but that's only going to last so long." Seeing Steve emerge with a tube of epoxy and a roll of duct tape, he added, "Never mind, the coffee pot is fixed. So yes, we need a case."

He waved as Steve rapped on the window with the now nearly-fixed pot and gave Danny a broad smile. God, the man was like a child sometimes. A hyperactive, hyperdestructive child. Danny couldn't imagine the trouble Doris had gone through raising the smaller, younger version of the Navy SEAL. He sighed, thankful to have ended up with Grace instead.

"Duke, I'll take literally any case at this point. … No, it really doesn't matter. In fact, you know what? Just give me the next call that comes in. I don't care what it is- parking tickets, cat in tree, Granny thinks the neighbor's dog is a peeping Tom- whatever it is, we'll take it. Just assign it to Five-0."

Steve waved his arms impatiently, and Danny forced a smile, pointed to the phone, and waved back.

"Okay, thanks Duke. I owe you one…. yeah, bye."

…

A/N: I had fun writing it, but because this is summer and my brain is addled from swimming in the river, please don't expect too much of me. Do let me know if you see plot holes. Hope you enjoy it!


	2. Chapter 2- Monday Morning

**A/N: The goal in this story (because I always have something I'm working on) was to have a more complicated plot and see if I could actually keep track of everything. Not sure I did a great job, but it was a fun and entertaining exercise.**

"Steve?" Danny rapped on his partner's office window as he pushed the door open. "You're almost done fixing the coffee pot," he observed, noting the now-bulkier contraption on his partner's desk. "You know, those things don't cost much- we could just get another one."

Steve grunted and continued to carefully dab the epoxide paste on with a toothpick.

"Well, how long will it be in surgery? Perhaps we should send flowers?"

"You in a rush, Danny?"

"A bit, yeah. We have a case."

In that second, Steve's entire demeanor changed. He straightened, capping the dual epoxide tubes at once, and eyed Danny with a bright attentiveness that Danny hadn't seen in weeks. "A case? When? Where?" Then he stopped and a frown creased his forehead. "Why didn't they call me? Why did they call you?"

"Are you jealous?" Danny deflected, but stepped back as Steve reached automatically for the car keys. "Hey! Where do you think you're going? You don't even know where it is yet."

"You can tell me on the way there."

"You don't know _what_ it is yet. Don't you need to know what you're getting into? Maybe you'll need special equipment."

"Doubtful," Steve said, although he did pause thoughtfully for a moment. "Most of the gear I could ever need is in your trunk."

Danny rolled his eyes. "I'm serious, Steve. Surely you debriefed before missions with your SEAL team, right? You didn't just run out into the desert willy-nilly?"

"Fine." Steve stopped halfway out the door, exasperation evident in his voice. "What's the case?"

"A unicorn."

 _…_

How Danny kept a straight face, he reflected later, he wasn't sure, but it was the transformation of his partner's face that nearly broke him. As Steve's intense, man-on-a-mission expression slowly crumbled into confusion, Danny was forced to bite back a grin.

"Come again?" Steve said slowly.

"U-ni-corn. You know, those things in fantasy movies? Looks like a horse, but with a long horn in the middle of its head?" Danny mimed a horn sprouting from his forehead and masked his amusement with a stern, academic seriousness. "Usually white with lots of rainbows floating around it…"

Steve stared at him as though he wasn't quite sure what to believe.

"Flowing white mane and tail. Sparkling eyes…"

"I know what a unicorn is, Danny. But…" he paused and folded his arms menacingly, "a _unicorn_ , Danny? Are you serious? Because if this is some prank that you and Kono plotted…"

Steve's confusion was replaced by a look of abject horror as Danny shook his head. "Real call; not a prank." Seeing Steve's glare, Danny began to wonder if taking this case from Duke was, in fact, a mistake.

"A unicorn… And you said yes?" Steve said slowly, his voice inching lower. "Isn't that a job for animal control officers? Or some of Jerry's video game friends? Not really Five-0 jurisdiction?"

"Yes, I took it. It's a case." Danny paused, trying to assess how dangerous his partner's temperament was at the moment. Though still frowning and obviously displeased for being left out of the case selection, Steve didn't appear to be immediately threatening. In fact, Danny thought he was being remarkably calm. Throwing caution to the wind, he decided to have some fun and poke the beast. "It's an imaginary animal, Steve. I thought it would be right up your alley."

"Right up my… That was a _jackalope_ , Danny, and I was six!" Steve growled.

"Whatever. It's a case. You coming or not?"

Steve hesitated.

"Unless you'd rather I drive," Danny added, reaching for the car keys.

"No, no, I can drive." Steve quickly pocketed the keys as he evaded Danny's grasp moved out the door.

"Somehow I knew you'd say that," Danny muttered as he followed after him.

…

"So, uh… this unicorn…" Steve turned left out of the parking lot and headed into traffic. "Something doesn't add up here: how'd we get a case about a loose unicorn? We get cases about terrorists, bomb threats, kidnappings, shootings… not doped-up motorists who think they've seen an imaginary animal."

"Maybe Duke thought it was important," Danny offered.

"A unicorn is not important."

"Tell that to my daughter," Danny scoffed.

Then Steve realized the implication of what Danny had said. "Wait a minute- Duke gave us this case? Duke knows better!" Steve sped up and whipped the car to the right, bringing them onto the H3 ramp.

"Would you slow down? The unicorn is not going to outrun this car!"

"There is no unicorn, Danny. Probably just some motorist high on pakalolo. And I think better when I'm driving this way."

"Ah. Well, _I_ think better when my life is not in imminent danger," Danny griped, gripping the handle in the door tightly.

"You're not in danger. The 'unicorn' isn't going to start shoot at you."

"With my luck it might," Danny grumbled.

"And you still haven't answered my question: why would Duke send us a case like this?"

"Uh…" Danny had nothing to say as Steve suddenly took his foot off the gas and their pace slackened to a grandmotherly crawl. He looked over to find his partner glaring at him. "Why are you going slow?"

"Is this a real case?"

"What? Yes, it's a real case!"

"Then how did we wind up with a case about a _unicorn_? Or is this revenge for that incident in the parking lot?" Steve pulled to the side of the highway. Stopping on the shoulder, he threw the car into park and gave his partner a hard stare. "Admit it: you had something to do with this."

Danny waged a silent battle of wills for a few seconds before he saw Steve's fingers start to twitch. Deciding against upsetting the ex-SEAL further, he sighed. "Okay. Fine, yes, I called Duke and asked for the next call that came in. And before you ask, no, it's not a prank from your friends at HPD."

"Why?"

"Why? _Why?_ Because _you_ , my friend, have been driving everyone crazy for days, that's why! You chased down a 12-year-old on a bicycle on Wednesday for rolling through a stop sign- chased him on foot, I should add- you tried to arrest some guy for accidentally shortchanging Kamekona $3 on Thursday, you tackled a guy on the beach who you _thought_ was suspicious on Friday- and he was innocent, mind you! I don't even want to _talk_ about what you did this weekend. And today! Today you nearly shot me in the parking lot!" Danny threw up his hands. "I can't take it anymore!"

"I'm sorry about the parking lot, D," Steve said sincerely.

Danny sighed. "I'm sure you are, but that doesn't change the fact that you are currently a menace to society. Honolulu has enough problems without you rampaging through the streets like Hulk."

"Are you saying I'm green and dangerous?"

"I'm saying that peace and quiet are good things, Steven. Do you know why they're good?"

"No, but you're going to tell me," Steve muttered darkly.

Danny rolled his eyes. "Most people enjoy peace and quiet. It's good for tourism, it's good for the economy, and most people generally approve of a little R&R. They also have normal hobbies like golf or shopping or windsurfing. You, my friend, are not like normal people, and I get that, I really do, but can you please, _please_ just relax and enjoy the fact that no terrorists have tried to blow up the island for the past month? Sleep in a little... Read a book…"

Steve's mouth twitched unpleasantly.

"What?"

"Are you done? Because we have a horse to catch." Caught between a unicorn and a classic Danny rant, the imaginary animal began to seem like the lesser of the evils.

"Unicorn," Danny corrected.

"Unicorns don't exist," Steve said as he started the car and pulled back into traffic. "I'm thinking the guy who called it in was high on drugs, saw some horse alongside the interstate, and imagined he was seeing a unicorn."

"Okay, let's say I buy that theory," Danny said agreeably. "But a horse? In downtown Honolulu?"

Steve shrugged.

"Well, until proven otherwise, we still have an open case about a unicorn to catch. The caller said it was near exit 26a, so why don't we drive over there, see if there's a unicorn-"

"-or something-"

"-or something- horse, sheep, lion, elephant, maybe some tracks, scat, or fur, and then we can swing by Kamekona's for dinner on the way back."

"Fine," Steve huffed. "But if you tell Chin or Kono about this…" he warned in a low voice.

Danny raised his hands. "Don't worry about me. _I_ , for one, have no desire to tell our friends that we spent the day chasing imaginary animals around the streets of Honolulu while they were away. As long as this case wraps up before they get back, my lips are sealed."

"Yeah? Good." Steve's rigid posture relaxed slightly and he slowed as they approached the designated stretch of interstate.

…

For a while it was quiet in the car. Steve drove slowly in the far right lane while Danny scanned out the window for any signs of the wayward animal. In the bright afternoon sun, every glint and flash of light seemed initially promising.

"Wait, I think… no, never mind… Hang on that looks like… oh, nope." After several more false sightings, Danny sighed and thumped his forehead against the window. "You were right- this is stupid."

Steve smirked and Danny didn't need to look to know that his partner was wearing his _I told you so_ face. "Get your forehead off the window, Danny. You'll get the glass greasy."

"Excuse me?" Danny straightened. "This is _my_ car. I can get the glass as greasy as I want."

Steve shrugged and flicked his blinker for the exit. "Fine by me."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm pulling off, D. Want to check for hoof prints and talk to the neighbors. A unicorn can't just walk through this neighborhood and no one sees anything."

Danny sighed again but made no protest, knowing his partner's logic was sound. They exited into a dry, dusty residential area near Diamond Head and left the car at the side of the road before hiking back up to the interstate to search for hoof prints.

Some time later, under mounting frustration, Danny threw up his hands. "Nothing. I got nothing." He straightened slowly from his crouch beside the noise roadway and felt his back pop in several places under his sweat-drenched shirt.

"What did you expect to find?" Steve asked from his section of highway.

"Hoofprints. A horseshoe. Hair from the mane."

Steve smirked.

"Fine, Mr. Indian Scout," Danny rolled his eyes, "what did _you_ expect to find? I don't see you making any great discoveries over there."

"I've got a rock."

"Oooh," Danny mocked, "a rock! Wow, Steve, that's so rare."

"It was turned over recently." Steve crouched on the ground, studying the dark gravel scattered across the ground beside the concrete barrier. "See the dark marks here? Something could have been here. If it's a hoof print, then I would expect to see another mark…" Steve stood and walked forward a few feet, "here. See!"

Danny frowned. Steve was taking this case way too seriously. Granted, he should be pleased that his trigger-happy partner was safely occupied at the moment, and he should be amused or at least humored that Steve was taking an interest in solving the case, but this was too much. Danny was hot. His shirt was soaked in sweat. He stank. The dust from the highway caked his throat. It was time to end this and call it a day.

"Steve, it's probably just a stray dog."

"No, the stride length is all wrong."

"Okay, a chicken, then. Or hitchhikers. Or neighborhood kids. Trash from one of these cars." Danny was too hot and too weary to think of a longer rant. All he wanted was shade, air conditioning, and a cold bottle of beer. "There are lots of options here. Do you have a _clear_ print? Fresh unicorn tracks?"

"No."

"Okay, I'm calling it. Let's go."

Steve frowned as he, too, straightened up. "So soon? We just got here," he said, oblivious to the time that had passed.

Danny rolled his eyes again. The slight pout that crossed his partner's features did nothing to ease his irritability. "It's hot, it's humid, and tracking imaginary creatures with you is not nearly as entertaining as I hoped it would be."

"You know, you're the one who suggested this in the first place."

"And now I'm un-suggesting it. Are you happy? I need fluids and a shower- all this sunshine and humidity is going to give me a heat stroke." Danny headed for the Camaro without waiting to see if Steve was coming.

"You can't get heat stroke yet," Steve's voice followed him. "You're not exhibiting any of the symptoms!"

"Bite me, Steven!" Danny yelled back.

 _30 Minutes Later:_

Danny heaved a sigh of relief as he pulled his chair in front of the AC vent in the wall of the Five-0 office and settled down with take-out container of Kamekona's best shrimp scampi.

Smirking, Steve settled in comfortably on the leather armchair nearby. "Better?"

"Are you mocking my suffering? Think it's funny I almost passed out from the heat?"

"I'm not laughing."

Danny rolled his eyes. "One day, you'll be thankful for my Jersey-toughened exterior. Mark my words, Steven: one day we'll be somewhere cold and you'll wish you had my thick Jersey skin," Danny prophesied around a mouthful of noodles.

"Danny, I'm not judging," Steve protested. "You like to think you're being insulted all the time, but the truth is, I'm just eating fried shrimp and enjoying it. Quit thinking the world is out to get you, accept your flaws, and move on with life."

"Flaws? Flaws?! I'll have you know that-" but whatever argument Danny was trying to make was lost as he suddenly found himself choking on an unpeeled shrimp tail. Several firm whacks on the back and a long gulp of water later, Danny was finally able to wipe his watering eyes and found Steve's concerned eyes hovering a few inches from his own.

"Better?"

"Loads," but the sarcasm was lost in another bout of hoarse coughing. "See, Steven?" Danny wheezed. "The world _is_ out to get me."

"The shrimp are, maybe," Steve admitted, "but at least give _me_ the benefit of the doubt."

Danny eyed him suspiciously, but nothing more was said until Steve suddenly set the take-out container aside and moved to the main computer.

"You know, Danny, what if the driver who called it in _was_ on drugs? He gets high, thinks he's seeing a unicorn and who knows what else… If he was seeing things, he could be a hazard to other drivers around him. We should get a trace on his phone and track him down."

"OR we should finish eating our shrimp and sit inside in the air conditioning."

"I'm serious. We need to track this guy down before he hurts someone. If he's seeing things, he doesn't need to be driving."

"How do you know he's seeing things?" Danny returned and gave his partner a sidelong glance. "You really just want to tackle someone, don't you?"

Steve couldn't help the hopeful grin that crossed his features.

Danny rolled his eyes. "Let's assume the driver _wasn't_ seeing things. A better question would be, what is a unicorn doing on Oahu? I have an idea, but let's hear what you think first."

Steve was at a loss. "Fantasy movie filming?" he finally offered.

"No, I'm thinking something with a lower budget and more pink and sparkles."

Steve frowned.

"And little girls?" Danny suggested helpfully.

Steve gave a small shake of his head.

Danny laughed. "A birthday party, Steven. I think it's probably some poor, dressed-up horse that escaped from a little girl's birthday party."

"Who has a unicorn at a birthday party?"

"What, Mary never went through the unicorn phase?" Danny couldn't resist teasing the already uncomfortable ex-SEAL. "Clearly you haven't had much experience with 8-year-old girls. Grace outgrew her unicorn phase years ago, thank goodness." Gently pushing his partner out of the way, Danny entered a few keywords into the computer. Pulling up a list of search results, he clicked on the first one. "What do you think, babe?"

"Uh…" Steve gulped. "That's a lot of pink."

Danny grinned as the bright flashing colors from _Princess Party_ dot com filled the room. " _The perfect, one-stop shop for your own perfect little princess and all her pink princess party needs_ ," he read from the blinking banner at the top of the page.

"How does this involve unicorns?"

Danny tried not to laugh at his partner's face. The SEAL wore an expression somewhere between horror and hopeless confusion. "Princesses ride unicorns. Every dad knows that."

"Right," the ex-SEAL finally managed to mumble.

Danny scrolled to the bottom and found a phone number for the company. "One of us should call and see if they've lost a unicorn in the past twenty-four hours."

"They would have reported a missing animal, though," Steve pointed out.

"But HPD may not have connected the two reports," Danny countered. Pulling out his phone, he thumbed in the number and offered the device to Steve. "Do you want to do the honors, or shall I?"

Steve waved the phone away. "All yours, buddy." If the conversation devolved into anything involving little girl's birthday parties or ponies, he would be clueless what to say.

…

The call itself took less than two minutes. A few seconds in, Danny gestured to Steve for a notepad and began to scribble in his wretched New-Jerseyan jibberish across the page. Then he thanked the person on the other end and hung up.

"Well?" Steve asked impatiently. It was obvious from the frantically-scrawled notes that Danny had learned something of interest, but the detective was frowning at his phone and a grimace pulled at the edges of his mouth. "Did they lose a unicorn or not?"

"Yes, but that's not the interesting part." Glancing over his notes, Danny quickly translated for his partner: "The missing unicorn is a light grey, almost white, Quarter horse by the name of 'Lilith' that was rented out for the birthday party of 8-year-old Mai Ma. Nothing unusual there. But get this," he sat up a little straighter as he read the next item in his notes, "according to the horse's handler, in the middle of the party there was an FBI raid, the father, Mr. Daniel Ma, was arrested, and in the chaos, the horse spooked and ran."

Now Steve frowned, too. "An FBI raid? At a princess birthday party?" Those didn't sound like FBI tactics. "What else?"

"That was all he could tell me. He said he had to get set up for another birthday party, but he would be happy to talk to us later. He also gave me the phone number and address for Mr. Ma when he paid the deposit for the party, along with the address for the party's location. And one of us should probably contact the FBI office and try to figure out what happened with the raid."

"Where was the party?" Steve asked, pulling up a map of Oahu on the screen. "That might help us narrow down the horse's location."

"Manoa Valley, but let me do that while you call the FBI," Danny offered. "You have more weight to throw around with the feds than a lowly Jersey cop."

Steve acquiesced with a shrug, figuring he'd gotten the easier assignment.

 **A/N: I made up the website, so if it already exists, sorry. Also, don't let the unicorn fool you- there will be whump for both boys in this story. I realize it's a bit odd, but stick around and I think you'll enjoy it.**


	3. Chapter 3- Monday Afternoon

**A/N: If you googled 'California Highway Patrol unicorn' and read the article, you'll see that I've pretty much exhausted the original prompt. I had too much fun it to let go, though, so I turned it over to the plot bunnies to see what they came up with. This is the result.**

 **Monday afternoon:**

 _"Where was the party?" Steve asked, pulling up a map of Oahu on the screen. "That might help us narrow down the horse's location."_

 _"Manoa Valley, but let me do that while you call the FBI," Danny offered. "You have more weight to throw around with the feds than a lowly Jersey cop."_

 _Steve acquiesced with a shrug, figuring he'd gotten the easier assignment._

Ten minutes later, Steve wasn't so sure it was the easier assignment.

Twenty minutes later, he was quite sure he'd picked the tougher of the two items.

Forty minutes later, he gave up and emerged from the office with one hand on his hip and the other raking his hair.

"Well?" Danny asked as he bounced impatiently on his heels. "Took you long enough. I've got coordinates for the party and a well-defined search area for the horse. How'd you do on your end?"

Steve shook his head and huffed in frustration. "I'll tell you, Danny, something about this case isn't adding up."

"How so?"

"The FBI field office says they haven't conducted any raids in the past week, especially not at a little girl's birthday party. And they've never heard of a Mr. Ma."

"Okay…" Horse momentarily forgotten, Danny approached the smart table and started throwing out ideas. "What are we looking at, then? Some kind of high-end K&R? The perps dress as FBI, take the guy…"

"But there's been no ransom call," Steve pointed out. "The family is under the impression that he's been arrested, but HPD has no reports filed and…" Steve brushed a thumb over his eyebrow as he tried to digest the next piece of information he'd been given, "my contact at the FBI ran Ma's name. The search turned up nothing in their databases, but a wider search netted a hit on a classified file from a JSOC database."

"What are you getting at?"

Steve hesitated. This was a whole new can of worms and he wasn't sure he liked where it was headed. "I smell CIA or NSA. This has their sneaky signature written all over it. After Doris… well…" Steve stopped.

"You think your mother is involved?"

"No. I don't think so. But who knows," he shrugged, "this is Doris we're talking about."

Seeing his partner becoming agitated, Danny held a hand up. "Stop. Just stop and think for a second, babe. We can't field balls that aren't in our court. If Doris is involved, fine. We'll find out sooner or later and deal with that situation when it comes."

"Danny, I can't just ignore-"

"We _can_ , however," Danny continued, "do something about Ma's family and that horse. Let's focus our efforts there." Danny felt Steve gradually relax until the ex-SEAL finally heaved a sighed and tore himself away from the computer screen. "Okay, big guy?"

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." He gave a curt nod as he accepted the decision. "You're right, Danno."

Danny grinned. "I'm sorry, did you just say that I'm _right_?"

"Don't get used to it."

…

It turned out that while S had been on the phone with the FBI, Danny had come up with a solid plan of attack involving more than just a plan to find the horse. Once in the car, Danny laid out the steps of the mission, beginning with an interview of the wife and daughter of Mr. Ma. His original purpose was to narrow the search area and get an idea for which direction the horse had taken, but now the interview held extra significance.

Fifteen minutes later, the Camaro pulled up to a bright house on Tantalus ridge overlooking Manoa valley.

"Nice place," Danny commented as they surveyed the property from the truck. It was expansive by local standards- nearly half an acre of green grass and elegant eucalyptus trees surrounded the traditional, white home, which was hidden from the road by a white fence bordered with red hibiscus. "What does Mr. Ma do again?"

"Computer technician. Supposedly." Steve was beginning to doubt the alleged profession, but he would let it stand for now until he could learn more. Leading the way along the volcanic flagstone path, he rang the doorbell.

The door opened a fraction of an inch and a short, Chinese-looking woman peeked out.

"Mrs. Ma?" Steve lifted his badge to the door. "I'm Commander McGarrett, I'm with Five-0. This is my partner, Detective Williams. Can we talk to you for a minute?"

The woman opened the door a few inches more but made no move to invite them in. "The FBI told me to not talk to anyone."

Steve raised an eyebrow at Danny.

"This isn't about your husband's case," Danny quickly interjected. "This is about the 'unicorn' at your daughter's birthday party. We've been asked to find it. That's all."

"Oh."

As the woman hesitated, Danny pressed his advantage. "We think you or your daughter might be able to help use locate it. Were you at the party, too?"

Mrs. Ma shook her head. "No, I was here all morning. Mai said she wanted Szechuan- real Szechuan- so I stayed home to cook." She opened the door wide and finally gestured for them to enter. "I'll get her. She's just upstairs."

Once she was gone, Danny leaned toward Steve. " _How do we do this without spooking her_?" he whispered. " _Whoever these 'FBI' agents are, they've got her scared_."

" _You handle the girl- you're good at that. I'll poke around, see what I can find,_ " Steve returned.

"Yeah, well don't break anything," Danny huffed. " _You_ are good at _that_."

…

A few minutes later, a petite girl with dark hair and rich, brown eyes descended the stairs. From the slight puffiness and damp lashes, Danny guessed that she had been crying and immediately felt a protective sympathy toward the girl. "Hi Mai," he said, smiling as he crouched down, "I'm Detective Williams, but you can call me Danny. My partner and I are looking for a missing unicorn. We heard you might be able to help us."

Mai looked uncertainly behind Danny. Danny stole a glance at Steve who, although he had tried to back up and stay out of the way, still clearly towered over everyone else in the room.

Seeing this, Danny gestured toward the living room. "Why don't we sit down, and you can tell me all about your birthday party and this unicorn you got to ride. Do you think you can help us find it?"

Mai nodded hesitantly and allowed her mother to guide her into the sunny living room and climbed onto the couch by the open window. Danny quietly shoed Steve away, gesturing for him to remain out of sight while he and Mai talked. After making sure that his partner understood, Danny settled himself onto the opposite seat and smiled at the little girl.

"So you turned eight yesterday?" he asked.

Mai nodded.

"Do you like unicorns?"

Mai nodded again.

"How many unicorns were at your party?"

Mai thought for a second and then held up five fingers on one hand and one finger on the other. For a moment, Danny worried that she was one of those very quiet children who wouldn't speak. After the traumatic events of yesterday afternoon, he was impressed with the fact that she was communicating with him at all.

But Mai surprised him by adding, "But they aren't _really_ unicorns."

"Oh really?" Danny couldn't help a smile as he remembered Grace at this age. So serious, wanting so desperately to be a 'mature adult,' as Grace had put it. "So what are they?" he asked.

"Well," she stated solemnly, "they're just horses that are dressed up like unicorns. _Real_ unicorns don't exist, but it's still fun to pretend." She tapped her bare feet together and looked expectantly up at her mother. "You won't tell Daddy, right? He thinks I still believe they're real. I don't want to hurt his feelings."

Danny gave Mai a wink. "Your secret is safe with me." His partner had disappeared from the room, which meant he needed to keep the conversation rolling and the mother distracted. He pulled out a notebook. "So, Mai: can you tell me who was at this princess party of yours? Who did you invite?" As he spoke, he glanced up at the mother, indicating with a nod that she would be needed to fill in the blanks.

"Uh, Emma and Ella and Macey and Lily and Anna and Reagan, but that's just because I had to cause she's our neighbor, and Tracy and Yang and… I think that's it. Oh, and Jordy. But her full name is Jordan."

Danny glanced up from his list at Mrs. Ma, who smiled. "I can get you a list of last names, Detective."

"Great, thanks." Danny moved on to the next question in his notes. "Okay, Mai, can you tell me what happened with the horse?"

"Uh-huh. It was before we had birthday cake because Mommy didn't want us to get upset stomach from riding cause it's bouncy." Mai began to tap her feet together again. "Some people had to wait turns, but because I'm the birthday girl, I could go as much as I wanted and I didn't have to wait turns. I rode the big, brown horse first, I think his name was Dodson, but then I wanted to ride the pretty white one. It's called a Quarter Horse. The guy said she was called Lilith, but I called her Lilly"

"Where were you riding?" Danny interrupted. "At a stable? A ring? A field?"

"A big field with a fence around it. I was on my second ride when all these big trucks pulled up and a bunch of guys in black clothes jumped out. A bunch of the girls started screaming cause they were scared and their horses started running everywhere. Daddy was on the horse next to me cause I wanted him to ride with me, but he made me get off my horse so I wouldn't get hurt. I think my horse was scared because Macey, who was riding beside me, started crying, and she cries really loud. She's only seven and seven-year-olds are super loud criers."

Danny tried not to smile. "So what happened next?"

"The guys in the black clothes came to Daddy and asked him some questions. My horse was running away from Macey, so I tried to stay with Daddy, but they handcuffed him and took him away and put him in one of the trucks. Then one guy told me I had to go find my mommy, but Mommy wasn't there." At this, Mrs. Ma curled an arm protectively around her daughter's shoulder.

Danny nodded as he tried to condense the girl's long-winded explanation into Cliff Notes on the paper. "What happened to the other horses?"

"The horse wranglers got them. Or most of them, I guess. Some were out of the fence and running for the street, and they were chasing them."

After several more questions, Danny decided that he had exhausted all of the information that the 8-year-old had available. His few cautious inquiries about her father's arrest had been neatly redirected by Mai's mother, sparing- or preventing- the little girl from answering. Standing, he thanked Mai and accepted a small piece of paper from Mrs. Ma containing the full names and contact information for the attendees. Tucking it into his pocket, he nodded to Steve who had reappeared in the back of the room. As they left the house, Danny passed Mrs. Ma his card. "Please call if Mai can think of anything else," he said, then waved goodbye to the little girl with a smile.

Once they were safely back in the car, he turned to Steve. "Well?"

Steve shook his head in annoyance. "Nothing," he said as he took his frustrations out on the steering wheel, taking the next turn harder than necessary. "Normal house, normal decorations, normal family photos…"

"Whatever he was arrested for, maybe it's not at the house?" Danny suggested as he braced himself automatically in the seat for the steep, curvy drive down to the city.

"Maybe."

They drove down the ridge in silence. Danny took the opportunity of their elevation on the ridge to enjoy the view of the sun setting behind the skyscrapers of downtown Honolulu, a sight that he never ceased to enjoy. New Jersey sunsets were all fine and well, but a Hawaiian sunset was a whole other beast. Once they were back in the concrete jungle of downtown, he sighed. "Okay, what now?"

"You follow up with the horse rental company," Steve ordered. "See who was working that day, get their statements, figure out who saw the horse last and where it was headed."

"And what will you be doing?"

Steve grimaced. "I'm going to look into Mr. Ma. Did you notice he took his wife's last name?"

"Really?" Danny hadn't noticed at all. "How do you know?"

"Ma is a Chinese last name. From the photographs, Daniel Ma is white."

"So what do you figure? Maybe he was running from his past, and his past finally caught up with him?"

Steve thought back to the hit in the JSOC database that his brief initial search had netted. "I'm thinking there's more to this guy's background than meets the eye."

Danny nodded. "You're probably right but, since this isn't a high-profile murder investigation, do you mind if we call it a night? I don't feel like working overtime to find a missing horse. Plus, Amber called and-"

"Say no more," Steve grinned.

…

It was late when Steve finally finished sifting through the information gleaned from multiple database searches and a few favors pulled with his old Navy connections. Mr. Ma was not Mr. Daniel Ma at all, but Russian-born Daniil Krupin, a Cold War defector who had settled in Hawaii in the 1980's. Beyond that, information was scarce or classified- Steve found a host of documents that he had no access to at the moment- so he turned to the princess party company, hoping for a lead on the runaway horse.

Instead of finding the missing animal, however, his search of the company and its employees turned up an alarming number of past arrests for drug-related charges, and Steve began to suspect that the company might be a front for other 'parties' that were not princess-themed at all. He printed off some of the information to show Danny the next morning.

Finally, he pulled up a map of Oahu, focusing on the Manoa Valley area, and began to plot his own search grid for Lilith the horse. Danny had done the same task earlier, of course, but Steve knew the area well and thought he might have a better idea of where the creature was headed. It was a dull chore, but they had, after all, been originally tasked with finding the unicorn, and until the evidence directed them elsewhere, they were obligated to make the search their first priority. The fact that the unicorn had led them to a Soviet ex-spy and a possible drug ring was just a happy coincidence.

Long after Danny had gone home, Steve finally shut down the computers and locked up the office. Perhaps it was because the parking lot was dark and empty, or perhaps he was just exhausted, but Steve failed to notice that anything was wrong until he slid into the front seat of his truck and started the engine. He had just buckled his seatbelt when something hard and cold burrowed into his side.

Steve froze.

"Evening, Commander," came a quiet voice from the back seat. "Place your hands on the steering wheel where I can see them. We're going to have a little chat."


	4. Chapter 4- Tuesday Morning

**A/N: Fun fanfiction statistics of the day (because I'm a dork and this is fun for me):**

 **Hawaii Five-0 (6.7 thousand stories): average reviews: 6.5 per chapter. (whump/hurt/comfort stories: 9.5 per chapter). Popular genres: hurt/comfort and family.**

 **Firefly (7.2 thousand stories): average reviews: 2.5 per chapter, popular genres: romance, friendship (2 of the top scoring stories were French)**

 **CSI Miami (6.5 thousand stories): average reviews: 3 per chapter, popular genres: romance, hurt/comfort**

 **Game of Thrones (5.2 thousand stories): average reviews: 6 per chapter, BUT that # is closer to 4 when I remove a couple of major outliers. Popular genre: drama.**

 **Note: I used a small sample size, so error is possible. Didn't have time to do more sampling, and don't know enough programming to data dump and analyze with python. Hoping to get there eventually! :)**

 **Tuesday Morning:**

Danny Williams hummed happily as he pulled into the Five-0 parking lot Tuesday morning. The sun had just appeared over the ridge and a gentle breeze rippled through the air. It was a beautiful day, cool by Hawaiian standards, but the lower temps and clear, blue skies recalled memories of Autumn for the Jersey native. Nevermind that it was technically winter here on the islands, just past Christmas, and there would be no elegant color change, no frost, and certainly no blizzards. The morning felt good and Danny was determined to enjoy it.

As he swiped his sack lunch from the passenger seat (a healthy sandwich and a banana, Grace would be proud of him), he spotted a familiar blue truck parked under the trees at the far end of the lot. Danny groaned. Sitting in the exact same spot as yesterday, it had the same small branch caught under the windshield wiper and a handful of stray leaves scattered across the hood. There was only one possibility: Steve had spent the night in the office… _again_. Danny rolled his eyes and heaved a long-suffering sigh.

It wasn't uncommon for the Navy man to get caught up in a case, especially kidnapping or human trafficking cases where human lives were at stake, but this was a horse- a freaking _unicorn_ , for Pete's sake- so he had absolutely no excuse for not sleeping at home. Danny shook his head, annoyed. He and his partner were going to have a little talk about priorities when he got up to the office. But still… he inhaled deeply, stretching as he reached for the lobby door… Danny wasn't going to let it bother him. He was having a wonderful morning, and he was determined that it would stay that way.

His positive attitude lasted a little less than five minutes. Arriving at the Five-0 doors, he was surprised to find the office dark and still locked up. Normally, his rigidly-disciplined partner would have been here for a solid 30 minutes already, the lights would be on, the doors unlocked, the coffee brewed… Danny flicked the switch by the door and waited for the overhead florescents to flicker to life. Perhaps the Neanderthal was still sleeping?

Squinting at the epoxide-sealed and duct tape-laden coffee pot on the table, Danny decided against caffeine for the morning and headed straight for Steve's office. The blinds were drawn and the lights off, but when he turned the handle, he found it unlocked.

" _Steve_?" he whispered into the darkness. Getting no response, he pushed the door lightly and stepped inside. "You up, babe?" he asked softly as he entered the dim interior. The chair at the desk was empty, which was a good sign since Danny had found his partner slumped over on the hard, mahogany wood before. Turning slightly, his eyes sought out the ex-SEAL's other favorite 'bed.'

"Of course," he muttered to himself. Although he had expected it, Danny still rolled his eyes when he spotted his partner passed out on the couch against the far wall. Sprawled across the surface with his legs spilling over the edge and one arm trailing the floor, Steve appeared dead to the world. Glancing once more at his watch, Danny decided that the man had slept long enough. If he had a headache the rest of the day, well, it was his own fault. Perhaps he would think twice before working late and crashing at the office next time.

"Couldn't go home and sleep like a normal person, could you?" Danny chided as he flicked the blinds open and turned on the lights. "Why does every case have to be a mission to you? Go, go, go, no eating, no sleeping- this isn't the military, babe." He paused when the man of normally-ninja reflexes failed to stir. "Steve?" Moving to the couch, he gingerly tapped his partner's shoulder. "Come on, up and at 'em!"

Steve snored lightly, oblivious to Danny's presence. Bending over him, Danny seized both shoulders and shook vigorously. "Rise and shine, soldier!"

When Steve failed to deliver his usual retort of _It's 'sailor,' Danno!_ , the detective became concerned. "Steve? Hello?" Prying open an eyelid, he was troubled to see the pupil sluggishly shrink in response to the light. Seizing the arm on the floor, he pressed his fingertips to the wrist and was slightly reassured to feel a strong, if slow, pulse throbbing under the skin.

"Well, you're alive," he muttered softly as he studied his partner's prone form and tried to decide what to do next. Pulling out his phone, his finger was hovering over Max's number when Steve suddenly stirred.

…

Steve came to awareness slowly, guided back to consciousness by the soft grumbling of his partner's voice. Unlike similar experiences in which he'd woken up alone, confused, and in a strange place (usually a foreign hospital bed), this time Danny's voice helped anchor Steve to reality and allowed him to slowly merge with the conscious world. As he laid still in a state of half-sleep, he realized he was in his own office, and Danny was somewhere nearby, on the phone with someone. Only half understanding what he hearing, Steve listened drowsily to his partner's vocalizations while his tired body tried to find the capacity for movement.

"…coming around now… yes, I'd rather he went to the hospital, too, Max, but there's a huge wreck on the Pali and all rigs are at least an hour out… right, since he's breathing and in one piece, he's low priority." Danny smoothed a hand over his hair, a nervous habit he'd developed back in Jersey. "I don't know, Max, about 80, I think?... No, but his pupils are slow. Reactive, but very slow… Yes, I did feel the back of his head, and no, there's no obvious bump there." Beginning to feel slightly annoyed, Danny turned away, and was startled as Steve uttered a low groan suddenly.

"D'ny?"

"Hey Max, I need to let you go; he's coming around... Yes, and tell Charlie we want a rush on it…. Yeah, thanks. See you soon." Stowing the phone in his pocket, Danny dropped to his friend's side.

"Steve?" he asked cautiously. "You back with me?"

Steve muttered something unintelligible.

"How's that, babe?"

"Uhh…" Steve tried, but the words wouldn't quite form. Annoyed, he slung an arm over his head toward the couch and tried to push himself upright.

"I don't think so, mister." It didn't take much effort for Danny to pull his partner's arm down to his side and pin him into a prone position. "You stay there a few minutes longer. Max is already on his way."

"M'fine," Steve grunted in a disgruntled tone. "Jusgimmeamin."

"Okay," Danny sat back on his heels and ran a hand through his hair. "Just take it easy. I think you've been drugged."

"Sdtv," Steve said, which Danny took to mean _sedative_. Then "Tsu?"

"What?" Danny hoped the effects of whatever drug it was would wear off soon. " 'Too soon?' " he guessed. "What's too soon?"

Steve groaned and threw his arm up again, this time landing it on his face where it managed to block out most of the annoying light. Through gritted teeth, he growled his question again, making an effort to enunciate each letter: "C… S… U?"

"So somebody was in here last night?" Danny quickly made the jump in logic behind his partner's request and surveyed the office again, glad that he hadn't touched anything besides the couch. "Who was it? What did they want?" he asked, but Steve was too tired to answer. As he drifted off again, his arm flopped into Danny's lap with a faintly-uttered " _Mmph_." Danny was about to push it away when he noticed the angry, red mark in the crook of the arm. " _What the hell?_ " Danny whispered to himself. Lifting the other arm, he checked for similar markings and found none. A frightening deduction began to form in his mind and he looked quickly around the office for any sign of something out of place, any evidence to support his theory.

There was the folded American flag on the shelf and the model Navy ships above the books, still perfectly positioned where his OCD partner had placed them years ago. A neat stack of file folders, each carefully labeled, was positioned on the desk, though one folder was slightly askew. Danny made a mental note of the folders and let his eyes wander the rest of the room. Two pens resting in the holder on the desk. A lamp sat just behind the pens. Steve's computer and monitor were just to the right of the lamp. A book on signaling techniques, likely related to Steve's next round of reserves training, rested on the left side of the desk. The chair had been pushed back from the dark, mahogany surface as though its owner had risen and neglected to push it back in. A light rain jacket hung on the hook by the door.

Danny frowned and rubbed the nape of his neck with one hand. It all seemed normal enough, but something didn't sit well with him and he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He looked down at the semiconscious form of his partner resting against him and came to a decision.

"Right you. Either wake up and explain this to me, or I'm dragging your butt to the hospital."

"No ho'pitl." Steve had awoken again and his response was surprisingly coherent.

"Steve, something happened here and I want to know what it is." Danny pulled out his phone and ghosted his finger threateningly over the emergency services number. He hoped Steve hadn't overheard him talking with Max earlier and didn't know that an ambulance wasn't available. "You going to fill me in, or am I gonna call an ambulance?"

For a few seconds, Steve blinked hazily as he tried to respond. Then he must have drifted off again because the next thing he saw was Max bending over him…

…

"Good morning, Commander," the ME chirped cheerily as Steve's eyes batted open. "It is good to see you back in the land of consciousness." The ME crouched by Steve's side, conducting a preliminary exam while Danny hovered nearby with poorly-disguised concern. "How are you feeling?" he asked as he wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Steve's arm.

"Unngh." Steve closed his eyes as the cuff tightened. It was tempting to drift into sleep again, but the poking and prodding prevented him from doing so. He flinched as a hand reached under his shirt and something cold settled on his chest.

"Just a stethoscope, Commander," Max said gently as Steve warily cracked one eye open. "Do you have any other injuries that you are aware of?"

Steve thought about it for a second. "No."

"He- or they- didn't do anything else to you?" Danny asked with concern.

Steve responded with a curt shake of his head and a grunt and tried to sit up. He managed a partial rise before the room suddenly spun and he tipped sideways, nearly rolling off the couch before Danny caught him with a heavy _oomph!_

"What the heck, Steven! Can't- _mmph!-_ can't you wait five minutes?" the detective chided as he took the brunt of Steve's weight and maneuvered him back onto the couch and forced him back into a reclining position.

Steve frowned, but couldn't find the energy to protest or respond. Through lazy, half-lidded eyes, he watched as Max inserted a needle and held a small vial at the crook of his arm, allowing the dark red blood to rush in. Although some energy was beginning to return to his system, he felt completely drained. He flexed a finger slowly, annoyed at its sluggish response. Above him, Max talked Danny through his examination, but Steve was only partially paying attention.

"The Commander appears to have sustained a puncture wound, likely from a small gauge needle. That was a very good observation on your part." Max explained to Danny, indicating the small, red spot on Steve's other arm as he continued his work.

Steve squinted at the mark and frowned. "I don' rem'mber that," he slurred slowly. "I was sit… 'rck… talk… 'othin'," but it was too difficult to continue and he gave up with an annoyed huff.

Max seemed unconcerned by this revelation. "Your amnesia is hardly surprising if a lighter, volatile sedative, soaked in a cloth, perhaps, were initially used." He mimed holding a rag over his nose and mouth. "The initial vapors would make Commander McGarrett unusually compliant and possibly induce amnesia," he explained to Danny, "enabling the perpetrator to administer a more powerful sedative via injection. If he _were_ drugged, it is possible that trace amounts of the chemical may still be in his system. I've taken a few samples, per your request, but I still think it is vital that the Commander be taken to the hospital for a thorough exam and observation."

"No hospital!" Steve delivered his most coherent response of the morning. "M' fine, D."

"Yeah, and I'm the Easter Bunny," Danny snorted.

"Not going," Steve insisted adamantly.

Danny rolled his eyes.

"Gentlemen, if I may suggest a compromise," Max spoke up, trying to head off any future interruptions to his work, "Commander McGarrett needs to lay very still while I am working, so perhaps this would be a good time for you, Detective, to interview him about last night's events. After that, I recommend an hour of rest somewhere quiet, perhaps in Lieutenant Kelly's office, since I see that CSU has arrived to sweep yours, and then, if the Commander cannot stand and walk on his own, please call me."

…

The story came out in bits and pieces, which Danny pieced together over the next quarter-hour as Steve relayed everything he could remember. It wasn't much to go on and, if Danny were being honest, he was a bit disappointed in the Navy SEAL. Whatever his partner had been drugged with left him foggy and groggy and not entirely coherent, which in turn made Danny's attempts at information-gathering much more arduous. Through garbled speech, loose gestures, and agonizingly long pauses, Steve explained to him that he had been drugged in his truck in the parking lot and then deposited in the office to sleep it off.

"So you left the office sometime around 1am?"

"Yeah."

"You got in your truck. There's a guy in the backseat with a gun."

"Yeah."

"You have a chat. Then he drugs you and that's all you remember?"

"Yeah."

"What did the guy want with our unicorn? Is it the world's most popular horse?"

"Wasn' abou' the horse, D. He… he said… no Mr. Ma."

"No Mr. Ma?" That explanation had then required further explanation since Danny was unaware of the extent of the research Steve had conducted the night before.

"Said to leaf… leave it 'lone. Don' mess with it."

"Why? Who cares? He's just a computer tech, right?"

"No." After Steve went through the highlights of his background search on Mr. Ma last night and explained that the details were in the folders on his desk, Danny tried to summarize:

"So the Man in Black breaks into your truck and waits for you just to tell you to stop investigating Mr. Ma? And then he drugs you and leaves you in the office?"

"Yes."

"Well that seems like a waste of his time. Was there anything else? Who was he?"

"Don' think so. And he didn'… didn't say who he was." Steve was equally frustrated with his inability to remember more about his mysterious attacker last night. Despite the fact that HPD's best crime techs were now sweeping his office, neither he nor Danny held much confidence that it would help. Their best hope was the security footage from the night before.

…

Through the blinds in Chin's office, Steve watched the proceedings in the bullpen and his own office with remote interest. Max was packing up the vials of blood for Charlie while chatting with Danny, and several crime scene techs were taking fingerprint and hair samples from the knobs, tables, desks, and window frames around the office. Nearly thirty minutes of his required hour of 'nap time,' as Danny had gleefully named it, was up, and Steve was feeling only marginally better.

He stretched one limb out carefully. The tiny part of him that _was_ awake was furious at having been taken down so easily and completely unaware, but that tiny part would have to wait until the rest of him caught up. Reaching a hand behind him, he grasped the couch against which he had been slumped for the past half hour and tried to pull himself upright. He succeeded, but immediately succumbed to sudden vertigo and slumped sideways as the office spun around him. When he finally pulled himself upright and looked out the window again, Max was gone and Danny was frowning at the smart table in the center of the room.

"Commander?" A young man from CSU, an intern according to his badge, opened the door and blinked in the dim light. "Can I ask you a question?"

Danny, rushing into the room behind him, answered for Steve. "Yes… Nahoa?" he asked, reading the kid's name off the badge clipped to his shirt while Steve just frowned against a growing headache.

The intern looked nervously between the pair and finally settled on Danny. "The Commander needs to check his safe. We need to know if anything is missing."

"That's classified," Steve said quickly. It wasn't actually classified- storing classified documents in the safe would have broken a host of Navy regulations- but he did have some sensitive documents about his mother and Wo Fat and other odds and ends that were no one else's business.

"I don't have to know what's in there," Nahoa said quickly, raising his hands. "We're just trying to assess what they've taken."

Steve grunted and began to stand shakily. Danny rolled his eyes and quickly thrust an arm around his shoulders before he could topple over.

"What have you found so far?" Danny asked the intern as he helped Steve to his feet.

"Not much," Nahoa admitted. "All the fingerprints belong to you, Detective Kelley, Officer Kalakaua, Commander McGarrett, Mr. Ortega, or Mr. Kartosh, the custodian," the intern said, reading from his notepad as he followed Danny and Steve toward the safe. "Nothing seems out of place and there are no loose fibers or other trace materials. If someone was here, then they cleaned up after themselves." He stood back respectfully as Danny lowered Steve to the floor in front of the safe and looked away even though Steve was blocking the dial. "We did take a few partials, but Mr. Jordan- that's my boss- thinks they'll belong to one of the team members. No one's looked at the security footage yet- Mr. Jordan said you'd probably want to do that yourself."

Danny nodded. "I'm looking at it now. We'll contact the lab when we're done." Both men looked down as Steve closed the safe. "All good, babe?"

"It's all there," Steve sighed in relief.

"Good. If it's okay, then I need to check in with my supervisor," Nahoa said, excusing himself.

Danny nodded his approval and helped his partner back up. "Time to lay back down," he said firmly to Steve, but his partner was having none of it.

"I'm fine," Steve mumbled grumpily. Swaying but generally upright, he moved slowly across the room and leaned heavily on the smart table beside Danny. "What've we got?"

"What've we _not_ got is the better question," Danny returned. "Are you sure you left the office around 1 am?"

Steve shot him a glare. "I know what time I left, Danny."

"Okay, well…" Danny stepped back. "You might want to see this for yourself.

Steve frowned. Seizing the controls, he pulled up footage from the lobby downstairs and scanned through the images.

Nothing.

With a snort of disbelief, he selected the camera situated just inside the Five-0 bullpen. Through narrowed eyes, he watched as the janitor came through at 11pm, and the night watchman made his rounds at 12. At 1:15, he saw himself exit his office, lock it, and disappear from the frame. The office remained dark until morning.

Pulling up the lobby footage, he fast forwarded to 1:15am and waited to see himself walking down the staircase. But as the minutes ticked by on the screen, the lobby remained obstinately empty. Just in case he had missed something, he let it play out at high speed until the morning.

As the footage ended, he finally turned to Danny who had been curiously silent. The shorter man stood motionless beside him, his eyes sweeping the last frame on the screen with rapt attention.

"You came back upstairs, though," Danny finally pointed out. "At some point, you went downstairs to your truck and then came back up, but you managed it without any of the cameras seeing you."

"I don't remember coming back upstairs. I figured they carried me up here after drugging me." Considering his height and weight, that posed another problem- either his attacker was unusually strong, or there was more than one perpetrator involved- but Steve was more interested in the problem of the missing security footage.

Danny was, too and reached out to manipulate the footage for himself. "You leave the office at 1:15… but you never get to the lobby. And somehow, miraculously, you made it back to the office without any of the cameras seeing you, either." He played footage from the lobby, then returned to the footage of the Five-0 office. From the moment Steve locked the doors until Danny unlocked them that morning, no one was seen entering or leaving the office. "Did you do some kind of weird ninja thing and climb out a window?"

"Replay the lobby footage again," Steve requested, ignoring his last comment, and Danny obliged. "Okay, this doesn't make sense. I should be walking through those doors here," and he tapped the screen at 1:17. "D, I was in my truck when the man drugged me. I got to my truck. Then I was drugged. Then I ended up back here where you found me."

"Then why doesn't the video show it? You never reached the parking lot, Steven. There's nothing in the footage to suggest you made it to the first floor."

Exasperated, Steve played back the lobby footage again. "I didn't dream it, Danny. It was real. _This_ ," he pointed to small red dot on his arm, "is real."

"Look, I believe you. But," Danny huffed and pointed between the conflicting images, "that implies that someone somehow drugged you, dragged you back upstairs- which is no small feat-, got you inside the Five-0 office- which requires a password and keycard, by the way- and then edited all the security tapes before he left." He cast a sidelong look at Steve. "Come on. I know we're both thinking the same thing."

Steve knew what Danny was thinking, but hesitated to admit his own thoughts were along the same lines. "Danny, if it's the CIA or NSA, I'd receive a warning through official channels. Not like this."

Danny sighed, but reluctantly accepted this explanation. "Okay. If that's the case, then this isn't your ordinary, run-of-the-mill criminal. This is some kind of elite hacker if he pulled all of this off. We need Jerry."

"No can do. Jerry's helping his mom, remember?"

"Okay, Toast then."

"On the East Coast at a big tech conference."

"One of your Navy connections?"

Steve shook his head. "Not for something like this."

"Something like what?" Danny faced him with a glare, his frustration spilling over into anger. "We were hacked, Steve! No, wait, more than that: we were hacked, the security footage was tampered with and erased- oh, and let's not forget that you were kidnapped and drugged in your own office! If there was ever a time to call in the big guns, this is it!"

Maybe it was the lingering effects of said drugs, but Steve was in no mood to argue. When the detective had finished his mini-rant, Steve bluntly laid out his reasons: "I'm a reservist, Danny. With Catherine retired and Joe out of the picture, I don't have the connections that I used to." It hurt, actually, to know that years of service had earned him only a small handful of favors at the higher levels, but Steve would never admit that, especially not to Danny. And he didn't feel that now was the time to call in one of his few favors remaining… not yet. "Besides, I've got a funny feeling about this one. How did the man in the truck know what I'd been doing? It was late, everyone else was gone… How could he know about our case? And that I'd been looking into Mr. Ma specifically?"

Danny looked around the office uncomfortably. "Do you think he's bugged your office?"

"CSU would have found it."

"Hacked your computer?"

"Unlikely. I'm using some Navy encryption software." At a loss for what to do, Steve flagged down a crime scene technician and had the man find the file folders he had left on his desk. Donning a pair of gloves to avoid damaging any evidence, he passed them to Danny with a shrug. "Here's the research I did last night. Maybe there's something in there. And, just for you, I narrowed down a search grid for the 'unicorn'."

Danny flipped open the first two folders and nodded approvingly at the contents. Then he pulled the third folder open. "Um babe?" Danny held up the plain folder that had "Mr. Ma" printed neatly on the side. "This one's empty."

"What?" Steve snatched it from his hand. "No, that's not right. It should have his employment and marital info and…" He searched quickly through the remaining sheets and folders on his desk, but the papers were gone. "I guess he took it."

"Please tell me you have a backup?"

"Yes. I saved everything on the computer," Steve said, logging into the machine. "Taking the physical papers won't do much good on stopping us from looking into Ma unless-" He stopped suddenly as an empty folder appeared on his screen. "This doesn't make sense."

Danny watched quietly for a minute. "Don't tell me- everything's gone," he hazarded a guess.

Steve tried a few more keywords, but with the same results. "I don't understand."

"Me either, babe."

"You don't get it, Danny- my computer extremely high-level encryption software." Steve rubbed his head where a low, throbbing ache had begun itself known. "I keep very sensitive information on this computer. If he gained access to it, that's a hug breach of security." Leaning back in his chair, he scrubbed a tired hand over his face. "I'll have to file a report."

"Well, on the plus side, I guess we know what he did after bringing you back upstairs," Danny commented. "While you file your report, why don't I go back and re-do all that research you did last night?"

"Don't bother," Steve grimaced. "I've got a hunch that's all disappeared, too."

…

Steve's hunch was correct. While the Five-0 commander spent the rest of the morning filling out paperwork for an apparently very long and detailed report, Danny did some digging and tried to recover the files that had gone missing during the night. As Steve had predicted, the databases had been wiped of any hint of a Mr. Ma, and all internet searches revealed nothing.

"It's like this guy never existed," Danny complained. "How do you make a man completely disappear overnight?!"

More captivated now by Steve's mysterious attacker and his ability to make things disappear than Mr. Ma, Danny turned his attention to the building's security systems and began looking into how the files and footage could have disappeared. However, despite his best efforts, he had nothing to show when Steve finished two hours later.

On a sticky note, Danny jotted down everything that had disappeared so far:

 _The thief- or thieves_

 _The horse / unicorn_

 _Mr. Ma_

Danny stopped and scratched the last line out. Mr. Ma didn't just disappear. For all points and purposes, Mr. Ma didn't exist. And, if the internet and his recent research were to be believed, neither did his wife or daughter.

 **A/N: I wrote 4 different versions of this chapter and am still not very happy with it. At the end of the story, I plan on having a "Deleted Scenes" chapter with items that I cut.**


	5. Chapter 5- Tuesday, 12-2pm

**A/N: If you're ever in Hawaii, there's a lovely coffee shop in Manoa Valley that's worth a visit. It's a nice break from the heat of the city, very pleasant and lush, especially if you've come from Diamond Head or Makapu'u. Manoa Valley is lush and green. Downtown is hot. Most of the Honolulu side is drier and hotter than other parts of the island.**

"I'm sorry, but I don't have a 'Daniel Ma' listed here."

"What?"

The real estate agent, a tall, thin woman in a colorful, form-fitting dress, consulted her clipboard again. "According to my records, the previous owner was a 'Clark Henderson,' 42 years old, unmarried."

"Any reason listed why he moved?" Steve asked as he scanned the yard for anomalies. Fresh mulch, new pots on the porch, and a new mailbox had been added overnight.

"I believe he went to the mainland to care for his elderly relatives," the real estate agent said.

Danny wrinkled his nose, but Steve forestalled any comments with a warning hand on his partner's arm. "How long has the house been on the market?" he asked before Danny could speak.

"Just this week. His items are still being packed, but he went ahead and moved last week. I'm happy to give you a tour, though," she offered.

Steve, catching a glimpse of the front room through the window, shook his head. "No thanks, we're good. Thank you for the information." He turned to leave.

"No tour?" Danny asked as they returned to the car.

"Did you see inside? Everything is different- new furniture, different colors on the walls, a large dog bed…"

"Why go to all that trouble?"

"Because whatever they're hiding, whatever Mr. Ma was doing… it must be big, Danny."

"Big enough that you'll back off and let the FBI do their thing so we can focus on finding the horse?" Danny shook his head and climbed into the passenger seat. "Don't answer that. I already know what you'll say."

Steve rolled his eyes. Standing at the driver's side, he paused before climbing in and took a long look around the street. Hedges and stone walls bordered many of the yards; here and there a gardener could be heard trimming or mowing, but otherwise the street was relatively quiet. Dark green trash cans lined the street for pickup, but aside from the Camaro and the real estate agent's car, there were no other vehicles.

"What? What are you looking for?"

"Nothing," Steve mumbled. He had been hoping for something obvious- an out-of-place shaved ice truck, a dark, unmarked car, anything to indicate other forces were at work, but the neighborhood was quiet and empty.

"We could always talk to the neighbors," Danny suggested.

"No. There's probably a 'logical' explanation for that, too." Steve had no desire to waste time on dead-ends. "They've already covered everything."

"Who's 'they'?" Danny asked.

But Steve had no answer for him.

…

By one in the afternoon, Danny and Steve had finally settled in for their long-delayed lunch. Over sandwiches at a café near the mall, the conversation drifted leisurely around sports and family before settling on the issue at hand. Or, rather, the issue that Danny insisted be the focus of their discussion.

"Friends look out for each other." Danny explained between bites. He took a long drink and tried to find the patience to ignore his partner's petulant face. "A good friend will have your best interests at heart, even if you don't. A good friend keeps you from hurting yourself."

"I told you before, Danny: I don't need to go to the hospital. I'm fine," Steve growled between bites of salad.

"Maybe you are. And maybe you aren't. Either way, it's my duty as your friend to confirm that you are, in fact, 'fine.' If you don't like it, okay, but you picked me as your partner, so you'll have to put up with it."

"So because you're my partner, you get to hound me to death over doctors and hospitals?"

"Yes. Because you need it."

"I don't need a hospital to tell me that I'm okay. And I don't need you telling me that I need a hospital to tell me that I'm okay."

"But you still need me," Danny persisted.

"Really? How? I did fine in the Navy without you."

"Yeah, yeah, blah, blah, blah," Danny waved Steve's comment away. "I got you a case, didn't I? And we needed a case."

"A case that I didn't want. A unicorn? Seriously?"

"Fine." Leaning back and pushing his empty plate away, Danny narrowed his eyes across the table. "How about this: you need me to keep you in line. No, hear me out," he raised his hand as Steve opened his mouth to disagree. "Without me, you would be writing all of your own reports- and they'd be horrible, by the way-, you'd be medically discharged from the Navy because I wouldn't be around to back you up, and you'd be warming a bench in lockup because you would've gotten bored or overzealous and killed someone accidentally."

"Okay, okay, I get the point." Wiping his hands on a napkin, Steve swiped his phone off the table as it began to buzz. "McGarrett." He listened a moment, then palmed over the mouthpiece and whispered to Danny, " _It's Duke._ " Then, "Yeah. Got it. Send me the address." Dropping the phone into his pocket, he nodded to Danny. "The unicorn's been spotted."

"Where?"

"The harbor."

"The _harbor_?" Danny swiped a disbelieving hand over his eyes as Steve relayed the news. "How the hell does a horse- a white horse dressed as a unicorn- make it from Manoa Valley to the harbor and _no one notices_?!"

"Well, someone noticed," Steve pointed out. "A couple of teens called it in. They just so happened to be hanging out around there and noticed the horse. Asked Duke if there was a reward."

Danny snorted. " _Hanging out_." He stuffed the last bit of sandwich in his mouth. "Looking for something to steal is more likely," he mumbled around the sandwich as he chewed.

"You don't believe in Good Samaritans?"

"Not when they're fifteen."

"Oh, excuse me, Mr. Perfect Parent. So when Grace helped that woman last weekend at the playground, she had some selfish, ulterior motive?"

"What? No! No, that was different. Grace is different."

"Different?"

"Yes." Wadding up the sandwich wrapper with one hand, Danny gestured profusely as he tried to make his point. "Grace is not just any teenager; she is _my_ daughter, and _I_ have seen to it that she is raised in a responsible manner, unlike the other 99% of kids out there." He stopped, scowling, as a customer pushed rudely past his chair without apology. "Take that jerk, for instance," he said, pointing at the retreating purple board shorts and flip flops. "Mr. Curly-Haired Jerk clearly did not have the upbringing Grace had. Granted, this place is crowded and sometimes these things can't be helped, but Grace would at least have stopped and apologized. But he," Danny shook the sandwich wrapper at the man who had turned a corner and disappeared, "he couldn't be bothered."

"Uh huh."

"You don't believe me, do you? No, don't answer that. That was rhetorical." Misinterpreting Steve's smirk and slight shake of the head, Danny threw his hands up and exclaimed, "Unbelievable! You know, if there's one thing I can't fault Rachel for, it's Grace's behavior. Grace genuinely cares about others, a trait that both Rachel and myself have worked hard to cultivate. We may have had our disagreements, but- "

"Danny, I'm not arguing with you. I think you're a great parent. I think Grace is a great kid. But I don't know who these kids are, and I don't know their parents. They could be good, they could be bad, but because we don't know, I think we ought to give them a chance." Holding up the car key, he jingled them in Danny's face. "Ready to go catch a unicorn?"

"No," Danny grumped.

Steve barked out a short laugh. "Have some faith in humanity, man. The glass is half full."

…

Danny Williams did not just _think_ the glass was half-empty. After sixty sweltering minutes of circling the Honolulu harbor area, he _knew_ the glass was half-empty. There was no sign of the unicorn at the scrapyard that the caller had mentioned, so Steve had made the executive decision to drive around the area and look for the animal while Danny played lookout.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing," Danny groused from the passenger seat, leaning forward to soak up more of the chilled air pouring from the dashboard vent. "You're just looking for an excuse to drive my car for a while longer.

"Relax, D. It's a horse. It probably wandered off somewhere."

"And where, exactly, would that be?" Danny thrust a hand out at the concrete jungle on either side of them. "If it left Manoa Valley for this rusting urban landscape, it is one dumb animal." They rounded the corner, driving down the narrow alley between two warehouses before opening into an overgrown parking lot bordering a scrapyard. "I think we should let it win a Darwin award and we can tell the party company to cut their losses."

They crawled past the scrapyard, their speed limited by an impressive array of potholes sunk into the soft, overheated pavement.

"Easy… gentle on the goods," Danny cautioned as the car rocked through a particularly deep crater. "Maybe it was too soon to let you drive."

"Some of these can't be avoided," Steve said gruffly, weaving left and right around the larger hollows.

"Uh-huh. Stop the car."

"I can drive, Danny."

"No, not that. Stop the car." Danny rapped urgently on the dash as he twisted in his seat for a better look out the window. Complying, Steve bent forward to peer out the window at the dark, dismal building that had caught Danny's attention. It was another warehouse, older than most of the others in the narrow industrial strip bordering the harbor and possibly dating back to the war. The ancient, grey wood had been repainted more times than Steve cared to count but recent neglect had peeled all but the oldest coats from its warped surface. The windows on the bottom floor had been long since been boarded over, but the upper story still had gaping holes and the occasional remnant of a glass pane that somehow escaped the rocks and bottles hurled upwards over the years.

"What is it?" Steve asked in a low voice.

"I thought…" Danny began, but hesitated doubtfully. It didn't look like anyone had used the place in decades. He studied the small, rusting door nestled in the wall behind a pile of rotting shipping crates. "Never mind," he finally decided.

Steve eyed the gloomy building with dislike. He was no happier than Danny to be circling the harbor district on an otherwise beautiful afternoon, but whereas Danny's main objection was the sweltering afternoon heat, Steve's was boredom. He wanted- _no_ , he _needed_ \- to chase something, to shoot, to tackle… anything but sit and do paperwork for another day. He could feel his training and skills wasting away like an unused muscle and it irked him severely that no cases had come their way recently to remedy the situation. He squinted at the streaked tin roof, trying to make out the upper-story windows through the wavering heat.

Coming to a sudden decision of his own, he killed the engine, checked his weapon, and gestured Danny to follow him as he left the car and hurried silently across the asphalt toward the dilapidated husk of a building.

" _Hey!_ "

Steve ignored Danny's loudly-objectioned whisper and crept closer, not stopping until he was positioned safely behind a stack of pallets near the door. Behind him, he heard Danny's door open and shut and the quick _scrtch, scrtch, scrtch_ of the Detective's office loafers as he hurried to join him.

"So you saw it, too?" Danny inquired in a low voice as he pressed himself against the wall behind Steve.

"Yeah."

Danny frowned. "This _thing_ that you saw- was it armed?" he asked doubtfully.

"I dunno. Hard to tell. Best to be prepared."

"Uh huh." Danny knew Steve. He knew that all Steve needed was a glimpse, a fraction of a second, to catalogue all the pertinent information about a potential suspect, including whether or not the person was armed. He watched his partner replace the first weapon in its holster, only to now retrieve the backup piece tucked behind him. "If you really wanted to be prepared, you'd call for backup."

Steve made no response.

"Do you even know what I saw? Maybe it was the unicorn. You know, the harmless animal we're supposed to be finding." When that failed to elicit a satisfactory response, he sighed and threw up his hands. "Fine. Let's say this _thing_ you saw was armed. Are you going to call HPD for backup?"

"I saw a guy, Danny. Just one guy. I can handle one guy."

"Right. So what happens when we walk into that warehouse and discover that _one guy_ has turned into four or five? What if we go in there and discover it's a major trafficking operation full of baddies armed to the teeth?"

"That's why I brought you." Flashing a quick grin, Steve gestured Danny to wait while he ran around the corner of the building toward the other entrance on the far side

Danny rolled his eyes as he began the countdown. He seriously doubted that his partner had actually seen anyone in the vicinity. He himself had only seen a flash of white that he now recognized as a torn cloth dangling from a worn telephone wire behind the building. Still, indulging the SEAL and allowing him to run around after a 'bad guy' might help calm his partner down, and that would be worth it in the end.

Gun raised, he approached the slightly ajar door and listened. Nothing. Swinging around, he stepped into the darkness and stopped while his eyes adjusted. The warehouse was empty.

From the other side of the building, he heard Steve's shout of "FIVE-O!" shortly before the taller man burst through the second door. Danny couldn't help a short laugh at the man's expense.

"Well, babe, we were severely outgunned and almost overwhelmed, but I think we've managed to subdue them all."

Steve turned in a circle. "I _saw_ someone Danny," he insisted.

"Uh huh."

"I know I did," Steve muttered. Ignoring his partner, he kept his gun raised and carefully cleared the furthest, darkest recesses of the warehouse.

Danny watched him with an amused smile. "You wanna know what I think?"

"No," Steve holstered his weapon reluctantly, "but you're going to tell me anyway."

"I think you just _wanted_ to shoot something _so_ badly that you 'saw' a person with a gun, thereby giving you someone to chase and something to shoot at."

"Danny, I-"

"No, you know what?" Danny held up a hand to forestall his partner's response, "I think you wanted to go all ninja on someone so badly that you don't really care what you saw. All you care about is having someone to chase, but since we're out of bad guys, you're going to take it out on this poor horse. You want to charge in guns blazing, and you're going to scare the poor creature out of its wits." Danny shook his head as both men exited the warehouse into the bright sunshine. "Shame on you, Steven. What did the horse ever do to you? The horse isn't going to shoot at you."

As he spoke, the wall behind them suddenly splintered as a gunshot rang out.

…


	6. Chapter 6- Tuesday, 2-2:30 pm

**A/N: Thanks for the follows and reviews! This chapter is a bit short, but it's annoying to type with a bandaid on my finger, so the longer chapter will have to wait until later.**

 **…**

 _Danny shook his head as both men exited the warehouse into the bright sunshine. "Shame on you, Steven. What did the horse ever do to you? The horse isn't going to shoot at you."_

 _As he spoke, the wall behind them suddenly splintered as a gunshot rang out._

 _..._

Steve dove behind the nearest pile of shipping crates while Danny ducked out of habit.

"Where the hell did that come from?!" the detective demanded.

"I don't know." Half-reclined on the pavement behind the crates, Steve tried to see- unsuccessfully, as another shot was fired- around his meager shelter. "You were facing that direction. Did you see anything?"

"How can I see anything when I'm being shot at?!"

"It was just two shots." Steve flinched as a third round embedded itself in the wood above his head. "Okay, three."

"Which I bet is gonna be four in a second," Danny said drily as he tried to pull his phone from his pocket. Reclined against an old metal drum, he fumbled for a minute before finally releasing the device from his pocket and turning it on.

"What are you doing?"

"Calling for backup since you won't."

"Danny, it's just one guy. We don't need backup," Steve protested. He risked a quick glance after a fourth shot was fired. "I saw muzzle flash behind that building," and he pointed to another structure across the street from the warehouse.

Following his finger, Danny eyed the low, cinderblock building with dislike. "Great," he muttered, returning his attention to his phone. "Good for you."

Steve squinted in the direction of the low, tan building. "Got him. Open window, second floor. I can see his sleeve."

"And it's just one guy?"

"Yes." But another round, this time angled from the junkyard off to one side, had both men hunkering down as the wood beside them shattered. "Okay, two guys. But we can take them."

Ignoring him, Danny pressed the phone to his ear and crouched uncomfortably against the hot pavement and rusting metal barrel where he had taken refuge. "Duke? It's Danny… No, we don't need Animal Control just yet. Actually, we haven't seen the horse yet. … No, it's complicated…. Yes, that was a gunshot. We're under fire in the harbor area. Need SWAT and extra units… Yeah, old warehouse near the junkyard… Great, thanks." Closing the phone, he nodded to Steve. "Duke is sending backup. Real backup."

A moment later, both assailants opened fire at the same time, sending loud ricochets off the surrounding metal trash and forcing the men to hunker down as close to the pavement as possible.

"Is this exciting enough for you?" Danny yelled over the noise.

"What?!"

"You've been bored and moping around all month, and now we might die because of a stupid unicorn. So: Is this exciting enough for you?"

"Danny, I don't do this for the excitement." Steve didn't fully understand his partner's need for banter in dangerous situations. While he was busy assessing the situation and deciding on a course of action, the Jersey detective seemed more interested in thinking up witty insults and creative protests. Looking to his left, Steve studied his partner's precarious position behind the barrels and noticed something else. "Danny, you've got to move."

"What?" Danny protested, unwilling to leave the meager shelter he had. "Why do I have to move? What if I like these digs?" Danny fired several shots of his own in the direction of the junkyard.

Steve wasn't interested in playing around. He knew Danny's bluster was more pronounced when the detective was nervous, but he had other problems to deal with.

"Those 'digs' put you in sight of our second shooter. And that barrel isn't going to last forever." He sought about for a more suitable location as several more shots rang out. The door to the warehouse was still open, but too far away to be a viable option. The car was also there but the path to it was exposed and therefore not high on Steve's list. A better option was the stack of crates and tires a few yards away.

"Danny- can you make it to those tires?"

Danny sized up the distance. "You gonna cover me?"

"On three," Steve confirmed. "One… two…"

"Whoa, whoa Rambo!" Danny objected. "That doesn't give me any time to-"

"Three." Twisting around his shelter, Steve let loose a barrage of bullets.

"You are impossible, McGarrett." Rolling out from behind the barrel, Danny ducked and ran low across the pavement, sliding safely into his new shelter a few seconds later. "Okay," he called. "I made it in one piece, no thanks to you. What now?"

"Now…" Steve looked around. "Now I'm going to try to make it to that door," and he pointed at the opening into the warehouse behind him.

"Yeah? Cause I see a problem with that."

"What problem? There's no problem, Danny." Steve paused the conversation to drop his empty clip and pull a full one from somewhere in the depths of his cargo pockets. "It's simple: I run for the door and you cover me."

"Yeah? I don't know if you've noticed, but that kind of maneuver takes ammo and this," Danny held up his half-full clip, "is all I got left."

"That's it?! Where's your spare?"

"I don't have it on me!"

"Why the hell not?" Steve demanded.

"Cause I thought we were picking up a horse, Steve!" Danny yelled back in exasperation. "And I know the horse isn't going to shoot at me!"

"But everyone else is."

"Thank you, Einstein, I can see that now." Danny flinched as a bullet embedded itself in the rubber pile behind him. "If you'd told me I was gonna be in a shootout, I would've brought extra ammo. And body armor."

"Lucky for you, I came prepared," Steve said between shots. Twisting, he aimed his next volley at the junkyard. "There's extra ammo in the trunk, along with all the other equipment you always gripe about."

"Great. I'm glad you're always prepared, Steven. I'm sure you'll be a great Boy Scout leader someday." Danny fired two shots toward the building down the street. "But that does me no good right now since the car is over there and I- _argh!_ "

"Danny?" Steve called into the sudden silence. "Danny!"

 **A/N: I keep messing with the categories on this story because I'm not sure what fits it best. I feel like the website needs "bickering" and "whump" as category names. What categories do you wish were available for your stories?**


	7. Chapter 7- Tuesday, 2:30 - 8pm

**Tuesday evening: Steve takes a swim + interrogation**

 **A/N: You ever been trapped under tires? Or something else hot and heavy? I had a much larger relative sit on me once while I was in a sleeping bag. There is nothing like that moment of panic when you feel like you can't breathe because the air is so warm and you can't get enough of a breath to yell at them to move.**

 **No evil cousins were harmed in the making of this chapter.**

 **(Though not for lack of trying.)**

 _"_ _Danny?" Steve called into the sudden silence. "Danny!"_

Danny toppled backwards into the tires, dropping his gun and grasping his arm as pain seared across his bicep. The pile collapsed on top of him, knocking him to the ground and trapping him against the pavement under the crushing mass of hot rubber.

"Danny? Are you hit?"

Fear leaked through the SEAL's anxious inquiry, but Danny was unable to respond. Winded, he clutched his injured arm and lashed out with his feet in a panic, kicking and floundering against the mass of hot rubber pressing in all around him. As he knocked one tire loose, however, another took its place, and the shifting pile heaved its weight onto the detective, leaving Danny trapped against the pavement and rather afraid.

"Danny?" The ex-SEAL had seen enough to know he was in trouble, but how bad was it? "Stay still, buddy. I'm coming to you."

Exhausted, Danny stopped struggling and focused on his breathing, sucking in one uncomfortably hot lungful of air after another. He could hear his partner firing several rounds at the shooters in the junkyard and hoped that Steve wouldn't run out of ammo before HPD or SWAT arrived.

 _Since when were tires so freaking heavy?_ he thought as he inhaled painfully. The pressure on his chest reminded him of being trapped in the building rubble several years ago. He exhaled carefully, closing his eyes as the moist air gathered in the small space in front of his face. His claustrophobia certainly wasn't helping matters, either. _It's just a few damn tires. You're okay, you're still breathing._ He inhaled again.

After a few tense breaths, Danny calmed enough to realize that the shooting had stopped. He lay still and listened. A few distant shouts and the wail of sirens indicated backup had finally arrived. With his good arm, Danny pushed on the tires pinning him to the pavement. To his surprise, the load lightened and several tires were flung to one side with dull _thud_.

Suddenly, the entire pile shifted at once and a massive, tattooed arm was thrust into his space. Danny grasped it and was pulled free, brushed off, and lowered gently to the ground.

"I got you buddy. Just take it easy." Steve's hands ran down Danny's body, prodding gently for injuries. Danny pushed them away.

"I'm fine," he rasped out. Heaving in a few breaths, he was pleased to see that it didn't hurt so much to breathe now that the weight of the tires had been removed.

"You were shot, Danny," Steve replied anxiously as he resumed his examination. "Where were you shot?"

But Danny ignored him, his eyes focused on several figures running toward them. "Calvary's here, babe," he said, squinting as the shapes came into focus. As Steve's worried face hovered over his, Danny shook his head and tried to wave him away. "Really, I'm fine. Just grazed my arm." Danny took another measured breath and struggled to push himself upright. Several SWAT team members were hurrying in their direction and Danny caught sight of the flashing lights of an ambulance behind them. Seeing his partner glance down the street where the suspects had fled and just rounded the corner, he forced a smile. "Go get 'em, babe. I'll just wait here." Then, as Steve hesitated, he added, "Or are you gonna let them get away?"

Help was near enough that Steve didn't need to be told twice. Leaving Danny to the approaching paramedics, he sprinted down the street with SWAT close at his heels.

Danny watched him, then dropped his head back to the pavement with a sigh. "At least he waited for backup," he murmured to no one in particular.

…

Leaving his partner to the paramedics, Steve took off down the street after the two shooters. He didn't need to look back to know that several officers were close behind him. The men in front of him were fast- too fast for Steve to gain much ground. At the end of the street, the slower suspect turned right while the other turned left. Gesturing behind him, Steve indicated for SWAT to take the slower man while he veered left after the other.

A shot greeted him as he rounded the corner. Steve threw himself to one side and rolled, even as the bullet missed, flying wide and striking the gravel with a puff of dust. Drawing his own weapon, Steve fired back.

The chase continued down a cratered alleyway with water from the morning's rain pooling in the potholes. An open gate in the chain link fence ushered him onto the dock of a shipping company.

"Five-0! Hold the gate!" Steve yelled to the worker standing by the open fence. He sprinted past the office and a few semi trucks and down an aisle of shipping crates. The man in front of him barely paused as he threw one arm behind him and fired haphazardly in Steve's direction. Steve dodged, pressing himself into the side of one of the containers and fired back. Two more shots followed, then a _click_ and a curse.

Out of ammo. Steve pressed his lips together grimly. He only had a few shots left himself. Gun raised, he pursued the fleeing footsteps around the corner and stopped.

No one was there. To his left, row after row of crates continued down the dock, piled like massive children's blocks, while water lapped against the concrete pier to his right. Cocking his head, he listened cautiously. Nothing.

On high alert, he prowled softly to the first row of crates and peered, gun first, around the corner. The aisle was empty.

He moved to the next. Also empty.

He headed to the third.

Then the fourth.

But before he could round the corner, something heavy swung around the edge and plowed into him, knocking him to the ground and sending his gun clattering across the pavement. Groaning, Steve rolled over just in time to be seized around the middle and lifted bodily into the air. He punched, connected with the man's face, and was dropped to the pavement. Picking himself up, he had only a moment to see the man charging at him. Then both men hurtled over the edge and into the water.

…

"Well? Am I gonna live?" Danny winced as paramedic dabbed the wound with something. "Son of a-!" he growled as the skin around the wound burned suddenly.

Paramedic Julian chuckled sympathetically as he patted the area dry and wrapped it with gauze. "Sore and needs stitches, but you'll be fine, detective."

"Mmm. Wish I could say the same for my partner. Where is Mr. Impulsive, anyway?" Danny looked around the busy warehouse area which was crawling with dogs, SWAT, HPD and CSU. "Anyone seen him?"

"No idea, sir," Julian said distractedly as he worked.

"He better not have gotten shot. We have a rule, you know: only one of us in the hospital at a time."

"Really." Julian frowned in concentration as he tried to patch up the squirming detective.

"Yeah. He's annoying as hell," Danny rambled on, trying to ignore the throbbing under the careful fingers of the paramedic. "Don't get me wrong- he's great in the field. There's no one else that I'd rather have my back in a firefight. But one-on-one, in quiet, normal, civilian life? He drives me nuts." Danny leaned forward, peering worriedly around the corner of the ambulance and down the road where Steve had disappeared. "But he should be back by now. This is long, even for Super SEAL."

"Mmm," said Julian.

…

The fight was over before Steve even needed to take a breath. He was in his element here, rolling and tumbling just under the surface with his thrashing opponent. His SEAL training rushed to the forefront and Steve found himself mentally thrust back to the days at Coronado, wrestling underwater in the training pool. It felt good to finally _do_ something with what he had learned. Swimming in the ocean every morning was one thing, and Kono made a fine dry-land-sparring partner in the gym, but who would do underwater wrestling with him? No one.

Steve hooked an arm around his opponent's neck and pulled him under just before the man could break the surface. The goal- in Steve's mind, anyway- was not escape or submission, but control. He who controlled the air supply controlled the outcome of the match. This man wouldn't take a breath until Steve allowed him to.

Securing one of the flailing wrists with his free hand, Steve now permitted a brief trip to the surface. He could have- and perhaps should have- held him under a few seconds longer and ended the fight right there. But the 'fight' was hardly fair to begin with and Steve was itching for someone more evenly matched. Why not level the playing field and give the man a slight advantage? Keeping his own head underwater, he allowed the man a single breath of air. Steve knew he would finish things shortly… but he would rather drag it out just a little bit first.

The oxygen seemed to revive the suspect's fighting instincts and the man lashed out with his feet. One of them caught Steve in the shin. On land, the blow would have been severe, but the water muted the force of the impact and Steve felt only a rough bump. He doubted it would even leave a bruise.

Grasping the man's shirt and one of his arms, Steve dunked him backwards so that the water would rush up the man's nose, and he held him there, dragging him toward the bottom as the man thrashed against his grip. His own lungs were just beginning to feel the burn from exertion, but he had a while longer. Pulling the man deeper, he waited.

The suspect continued to kick and flail and punch, but panic had set in and his movements were unfocused.

 _It would be soon now_ , Steve thought and tightened his grip. _Just a few seconds more…_

He knew the moment he had won because the man went limp in his grasp. A moment later, they broke the surface together, but there was no more fight left in the man. Weakly splashing and gasping in the water, he allowed Steve to drag him to shore.

"Up the ladder," Steve gestured, pushing the man in front of him toward the metal rungs that descended into the water. "And don't even think about running away."

"Not… not running, brah," the man coughed and spit seawater over his shoulder. "You nearly drowned me. I gotta be alive to sue your ass."

"Yeah, good luck with that," Steve muttered.

…

It didn't take long for Steve to find his partner as he dragged his protesting prisoner back toward the warehouse.

Still sitting in the back of the ambulance while the paramedic finished tending to his other scrapes and bruises, the Jersey detective looked a mess. Uncomfortable sweat stains streaked his shirt and crept toward the waistline, mingled with blood on the left side and dark rubber from the tires. Why the man insisted on wearing a stiff button-up instead of a comfortable, airy tee was beyond Steve, but he'd long since given up on that point. At least he'd convinced Danny to ditch the tie.

"Well?" the detective grunted as he approached. "You've got that dopey smile on. Must've been fun for you."

"It wasn't bad," Steve grinned, pleased with his catch. "How's the arm?"

"Speak for yourself." Danny winced as Julian dabbed something on a cut on his chin. "You didn't get shot."

"Ah, it's just a graze," Steve shrugged, sizing it up. "You'll be back to your normal, grumpy self in no time," he added, pushing the unfortunate, soggy criminal toward the car.

Danny stopped him with a scowl. "Uh-uh. You are _not_ riding back with me, and neither is he."

"But your car-"

"-will be driven by me. It is, as you said, just a scratch. And: have you looked at yourself lately?" Danny flapped his good hand at his partner's attire. "You're a mess! You're soaking wet, I don't even want to know what that green stuff is-"

Steve hastily discarded the seaweed tangled in his hair.

"-and you stink like fish. No car."

"But-"

"No! Grab a ride in a cruiser, merman."

 _Some time later…_

"So. Michael Tafua." Danny quickly sized up the hefty, young Samoan man as he entered the chilly interrogation room and decided he didn't like what he saw. "You've been a busy little boy. B&E, theft, assault… But trying to kill two cops? That's a step up for you. What gives?" Standing over their prisoner, Danny folded his arms menacingly, which served the double purpose of stabilizing his injured arm and protecting him against the chill that had begun to creep into his body. Despite what he'd told the paramedics and his partners, his bicep ached and he longed to curl up in bed and call it a day.

"I ain't speaking to you, haole." Michael, still damp and in the same soggy clothing he'd had at the docks, glared back and shook some of the water out of his short, black hair. He didn't seem to mind the air conditioning, which Steve had 'accidentally' knocked down to the lowest setting. "I ain't talkin' to nobody but my lawyer."

"Oh you ain't?" Danny limited himself to one-handed gestures while Steve paced silently behind him. "So you'd rather take another swim with this guy?" and he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at his partner. "Look, numbskull, all we want to know is why your little gang is after this horse. And why you're willing to kill two cops over it. Cause I don't know if you've thought about how much jail time you're about to do, but if it's your bullet in my arm, you can kiss your petty theft days goodbye."

Some of his previous confidence diminished, Michael Tafua fidgeted nervously in the chair, his eyes drifting to Danny's left where Steve lurked in the shadows. Danny didn't need to look to know that in their little game of "good cop / bad cop," Steve was playing the role of "Very Bad Cop."

"Don't tell me that sweet little horsey is for your daughter's birthday party," Danny added drily, "cause we've already heard that line."

Their prisoner shifted his gaze uncertainly between the two men. Steve had yet to say anything, but Danny knew he was just waiting. Sometimes silence- and a menacing scowl- was the best weapon.

"Look brah," Michael said at last, "I wasn't tryin' to kill no one."

"Really? Cause you coulda fooled me," Danny retorted.

The man in the chair fidgeted for a moment. Then his face hardened. Danny saw it. Steve saw it, too. With barely a gesture passing between them, the partners traded places and Steve stepped forward…

…

Steve had been partners with Danny long enough that no speaking was required when the shorter man had come stumping down the basement hallway a few minutes earlier. They hadn't seen each other since the docks when they had parted ways as Danny had climbed into the Camaro and Steve into a squad car. Now, sporting a new shirt and an annoyed frown, Danny simply looked at Steve, nodded once, and said, "Fine. I'll lead," before stepping into the dimly lit interrogation room. Steve had followed with a pleased smirk that swiftly morphed into a displeased scowl when he saw their prisoner.

Perhaps it had to do with the dunking in the ocean, or maybe it was just the way their suspect looked, but Steve was not happy _at all_ with the defiant attitude and haughty expression on the man's face. Still, he held back and waited in the corner while Danny went to work. For the most part, Steve ignored the actual words being spoken on focused instead on their suspect's face, looking for any tells as to whether the man was lying or about to tell the truth. And that was why it took a moment for Danny's words about the bullet being _in_ his arm to sink in.

When it finally dawned on him what Danny meant, his partner had already moved on in the questioning.

Startled by the revelation, Steve couldn't help a quick glance in his partner's direction. At the docks, everything had seemed fine- even Danny had called the wound a 'graze'- and then things had moved so quickly that Steve hadn't seen Danny- _really_ seen him- until they met up in the hallway outside the heavy steel door. Now, studying his partner's stance, Steve realized that there might be more to the injury than he could see.

Danny appeared to be standing with his arms folded, but from the rear, Steve could tell that the left arm was braced against his side with the right folded protectively over it. A bandage strained against the rather tight sleeves, but there was no sling. Perhaps Danny had ditched it? Steve filed the information away to ask Danny later.

Coming back to the present, he overheard the suspect confess to firing several shots, followed by the excuse, "but I wasn't tryin to kill no one!"

"Really? Cause you coulda fooled me."

Sensing that it was his turn to get involved, Steve stepped forward, crossing the room in three easy strides. He stopped just shy of the chair and well within the prisoner's personal space. "Danny," he said, never taking his eyes from Michael's face, "I need a pair of pliers, a thin wire, and a piece of glass. That broken coffee pot upstairs would be perfect." Without looking, Steve could sense his partner's hesitation, but thankfully Danny decided to play along.

"Pliars, wire, glass. Got it. Anything else? Gun? Grenade? Knife?" Only Steve heard the sarcasm in his voice.

"No thanks. Already got a knife." Steve slipped the oversized 'pocket' knife from somewhere in the depths of his cargos and flicked it open. Reaching forward, he gently sliced one of the long, black curls dangling near Michael's cheek. Behind him, he heard Danny quietly slip out of the room.

"Easy brah," the Samoan warned in a low tone as Steve reached for another strand of hair. "I know my rights. I already got you on tryin' to drown me. I can add harassment to that."

Steve raised an eyebrow and cut another lock of hair.

"Look, whatever you're planning to do with that wire and glass and shit- you can't do that."

"Yeah? You see any cameras in here?" Steve gestured with the open blade around the empty room. "Any mirrors? Anyone who can hear you scream?"

"There's laws."

"And there's immunity," Steve shrugged. He was pleased to see that Michael had paled somewhat under his tanned skin. He reached for another strand of hair as Michael tried to lean away.

"Look, man, I didn't kill nobody. And I _didn't_ shoot that other cop."

"So who did?"

"JJ. He was the other guy you was chasing."

Steve brushed the blade of the knife gently across Michael's face. "You know where I can find 'JJ'?"

"Yeah man. Bring me some paper and I'll write it down. Just…" Michael squirmed and twisted away from him, "just get that knife out of my face."

"Okay." Steve backed away but didn't pocket the knife. "So… what were you trying to do at the harbor?"

"We just wanted the drugs, man."

Steve folded his arms and frowned his displeasure. "Drugs?"

"Yeah." Michael leaned back slightly in his chair and as far away from the ex-SEAL as possible. "Everybody knows that party company's a front- just ask around. Even the Yakuza's interested in their business. They got good product, we heard they'd lost a shipment, and we figured we could have the bit that they lost. Finders keepers and all that."

"Uh huh." Sensing he was reaching the end of Michael's limited useful information, Steve slipped the knife back into his pocket. "How'd you end up at the harbor?"

"My boss, he got a call. Said to high-tail it down to the harbor or the cops would get the horse first. So that's what we did."

"And you got the horse?"

"Nah, brah. We run into you two before we could get it."

Steve rubbed his neck as he considered the plausibility of the scenario. "Michael, there's a couple of things I don't understand: where is this product? And how does the horse play into all of this? Are the drugs stashed in the unicorn horn?" Steve asked, although he had a sneaking suspicion already. Behind him, Danny stepped quietly back into the room. Michael's eyes widened in horror and Steve didn't need to turn around to know that his partner had brought the requested items.

"Well?" Steve prodded with a growl. "Drugs. Horse. Connection?"

"Um… well, you know the phrase 'drug mule'?"

"Oh dear Lord," Danny responded from the back. "Don't tell me you fed that poor beast the drugs."

"Not us, brah! We just wanted to get it out."

"And how, exactly, were you planning on doing that?"

…

"Idiots," Danny muttered a few minutes later as both men exited into the hall. He leaned heavily against the wall and wiped a hand wearily across his face. "How could they not have planned that far ahead? Who decides to steal a horse so they can take drugs out of said horse without thinking about the actual _methods_ involved first?"

"Who knows," Steve responded absently. He didn't really care about the drugs or the horse at the moment; his main concern was for his rapidly-fading partner who was apparently still in quite a bit of pain. "Danny, about that bullet- is it really in your arm?"

"What? No." Danny's snort morphed into a quiet chuckle. "But _he_ doesn't need to know that."

"Oh." Steve frowned, unwilling to accept the detective's acting skills over the potential for a much worse injury. "So it is just a graze then?"

"Yeah." Danny's eyes flickered over Steve's face and caught the concern framed all too clearly in his gaze. "Sorry. Thought you knew."

"It's okay." Sizing him up, Steve noticed Danny had yet to uncross his arms and his forehead was creased with exhaustion and pain. "Look, it's late, D. Why don't you go home and I'll wrap up here?"

"Thank you for the concern, doc, but I'm fine." Danny could read between the lines and knew exactly what Steve wanted him to do.

"Antibiotics?"

"Got that, too, babe." Danny grimaced, digging a hand into his pocket. "While you dropped our suspect off and got changed, I got checked out at the hospital and picked up a prescription for this," he said, holding up a bottle of fat, green pills.

"You taken them yet?"

"Just about to."

"Right." Steve looked him up and down once more. "Need a ride?"

"So you can drive my car one more time? I'm not that bad off. You'll get another chance tomorrow."

"Need anything from the store? Food? Drinks?"

Had he not been exhausted and in pain, Danny would have laughed. "I don't need anything. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "You know what you need? A hobby."

"I have hobbies."

"That's not what I meant, babe." Pushing himself away from the wall, he trudged slowly down the hallway toward the elevator as Steve hovered close beside. "Open water swimming does not count. You need a new hobby. Not visiting the gun range or swimming the Pacific solo. You need something that involves other people, like a team sport." Arriving at the elevator doors, Danny punched the 'up' button and slumped against the wall as his strength waned. "Something that will use up your energy. No more dunking suspects in the ocean because you're bored or threatening to cut them into pieces with a broken coffee pot. One day, your immunity and means will be revoked and you're going to be clueless as to how to do a proper interrogation…"

Danny was rambling now and rubbing his arm subconsciously where the bandage pulled just under his sleeve, causing Steve to frown in poorly-disguised concern.

"…and before you know it, you'll be under investigation by IA because someone died in our custody and it will be all _your_ fault. And I am _not_ helping you break out of prison again."

Steve rolled his eyes. He gave the detective a few moments longer until the elevator chimed open before he interrupted. "Go home, Danny. That's an order."

"You're not my commanding officer, Steven," Danny protested even as his body sagged wearily. "You can't order me around."

"No, but I am your boss. Go home. And use that sling. I know the doctor gave you one."

"Yeah, yeah," but Danny made no further argument, his exhaustion evident in his silent lack of protest as he trudged slowly into the elevator. "Good night, Steve," he said as the doors slid shut. "See you tomorrow."

Steve shook his head, only slightly annoyed. "Night, Danny," he said to the empty hallway.

 **A/N:** **I think my chapter titles are a bit too dry. Your thoughts? I was thinking of titling this one, "Horses don't shoot back" or "Steve takes a swim". I'm really horrible at it, clearly.**


	8. Chapter 8- Wednesday

**A/N: Sometimes life gets in the way. On Tuesday, it more or less dropped a massive meteor in my path. So: while the story is mostly finished, mild editing is needed and it may be a while between posts. Finding time to actually sit down with the laptop is going to be tricky for the next few weeks. Bear with me.**

 **On the plus side: both Danny and Steve whump are coming. *wicked grin* I read Gone2Far's Cujo story and was inspired by her amazing ability to mix adorable kittens and humor with serious whump. Figured I'd give it a try, too. I'm definitely not as talented as she is, but I had fun, so that's what counts.**

 **…**

Danny cocked an eyebrow as he caught a glimpse of his partner's distant gaze. "No. Absolutely not."

"What?"

The two partners were sitting in Danny's office, enjoying a few mid-morning malasadas and brainstorming options for finding the unicorn and getting the drugs off the streets. Working on information provided by their less-than-happy suspect, Steve and Danny had made an unannounced visit to the headquarters of the _Princess Party_ company earlier that morning (along with several HPD cruisers, at Danny's insistence) and happened to interrupt the preparations for that afternoon's 'party' (aka, shipment of pharmaceuticals). With half the employees now in custody and the other half on the run, the only thing left to do was find the horse and then the case would be all finished, "tied up nice and neat with a bright pink bow," Danny had said, miming the bow part with his good hand as Steve secured the last of their prisoners in the HPD van.

But the question remained: how to find the horse? A tip line with HPD had been set up and an announcement played on the morning news and radio stations, but it would take time before the calls could be assessed and evaluated for legitimacy, a process that was now being taken very seriously after the incident at the wharf yesterday afternoon. Danny had thrown out a few other ideas- using Kamekona's helicopter to search for the animal from the air, for example- but even he admitted that he couldn't think of anything solid.

Steve was more interested in the 'tip' that led them to the wharf yesterday. "We were set up, Danny. Forget the horse for a minute- I want to know who placed that call. Someone knew the Samoans would be there, and they deliberately phoned in a tip, knowing we would go down there and the Samoans would likely shoot at us." He popped the last bite of a malasada into his mouth, miraculously avoiding scattering crumbs and sugar across his desk and shirt.

It must be a secret SEAL trick, Danny thought, scowling as he stared down at the sugary dusting on his own clothing. His partner's penchant for cleanliness could be a tad annoying sometimes. "Okay," he said, brushing the crumbs onto the floor and earning himself a glare from the ex-SEAL, "Who wants the horse so badly that they're willing to ambush two cops for it?"

"I don't know yet, but I'm going to find out." Although pleased that Danny was clearly feeling better after being winged by a bullet, Steve was still angry at the close call yesterday and irked that out of the original four team members, they were now down to one and a half, with Danny sporting a sleek, black sling and restricted to light duty.

Danny huffed and tugged on one of the straps holding the sling to his body as he tried to shake the crumbs out of the cloth. "I don't know," he said in an annoyed tone as he tried to adjust the buckle, "Isn't the point of an anonymous tip line the fact that the caller is _anonymous_?"

Steve grunted his assent, but his gaze was elsewhere, his brow wrinkled in concentration. "You know, Danny…"

Danny shook his head. "No. I know that face. That's your _I'm-Thinking-of-a-Fun-Interrogation-Method_ face. No, you may not use some unethical, top-secret technique on them. They're just idiots."

Steve frowned in annoyance. "We're being played, Danny. Someone used that tip line to set us up."

"Yeah, okay, but who? According to Michael Tafua, they were just after the drugs and we were in the way. Between the princess party people and the Samoans and your mysterious tip line caller, this party is getting a little too crowded for my liking."

"We're missing something." Standing, Steve paced the office, turning sharply on his heel between his desk and the window. "The party company is too small to pose a threat to the Yakuza or the Triads. Economics will eat them out of business before anyone else can take them out. Their shipments are too small to be worth the risk…"

"So why risk it?"

"Maybe this one seemed like an easy target? But killing cops for a small stash isn't worth it." Steve scrubbed a hand through the back of his head as he made another lap around his office. No, killing- or attempting to kill- two cops would have dire consequences for the gang members involved. It didn't seem worth it at all. So why do it? What were they missing?

"So what now?"

Steve ran a hand over his chin, brushing away the last of the crumbs, then rumpled up the wax paper and tossed it neatly into the trash can. "You know, D, I think you're onto something with the party idea. I think there's another person behind the scenes, pulling the strings. We need to be looking for whoever _isn't_ looking for the unicorn."

"And how to you propose we do that? ' _Everyone not interested in the unicorn, please raise your hand.'_?"

"I have a plan."

Danny eyed him warily and rubbed his arm. "Am I going to like this plan?"

"Do you ever like my plans?"

"Yeah, well, your plans tend to get me shot. Or they involve helicopters, or grenades, or rocket launchers."

"There are no helicopters, grenades, or rocket launchers in this plan."

"What about guns and high speed chases?" Danny asked doubtfully.

"What is with you and dissing my ideas? You are the most negative person I've ever met." Steve picked up his phone and scrolled through his contacts. "I haven't even told you what we're doing yet, and you already think it's a bad idea."

"You're avoiding the question."

"Am I?" Steve grinned and held the phone to his ear. "Hey Duke. I need a horse."

Danny groaned.

…

Several hours later:

"Why do _we_ have to be the animal control officers?" After an hour of sitting in the hot, stuffy cab of the truck, Danny was feeling more than a little irritable. He took a swig from his dwindling bottle of water and stared out the window at the evening traffic on Ala Moana. The stop-and-go crawl of the late rush hour provided little by way of entertainment. "I'm pretty sure this violates some kind of fair work agreement with the union."

Steve let out a long-suffering sigh. "I told you, Danny: we need the real animal guys on standby. We don't want them to be injured."

"But it's okay if we get injured? I'm already injured Steven!" Danny patted his arm where a bandage was hidden under the striped sleeve and waved his uninjured arm through the air. The sling remained an uncomfortable reminder of their shootout yesterday afternoon. His annoyance mounted as his partner ignored him. "Can you even handle a horse?"

"I learned a thing or two about it in Afghanistan." A wistful expression passed across Steve's face at the sudden thought of Catherine. He quickly changed the subject. "Duke spread some news around with our informants that the horse has been found and is being picked up. If we're lucky, whoever wants the horse will try to take it, and we'll be waiting."

Danny snorted. "And if we're really lucky, we won't get shot," he muttered darkly.

…

The radio crackled to life around 6:30, issuing a call for a found horse on Sand Island. Danny and Steve responded. In the mixed light of downtown Honolulu skyscrapers and the last vestiges of the sunset, they quickly located the animal in a grassy lot behind the wastewater treatment plant, exactly where Duke said she would be.

To Steve's frustration (and Danny's pleasure), there was no sign of attackers or antagonists. 'Lilith' seemed perfectly content, so they took their time recapturing her and loading her into the truck while still keeping their eyes peeled for anyone else who might have overheard the widely-broadcast call.

By 7:30, however, they had delayed long enough. With the horse loaded and no indication of any trouble, Steve and Danny decided to leave.

The return trip across the bridge and toward the shelter downtown was likewise monotonous.

No guns.

No chases.

No helicopters.

No hint of excitement of any kind.

"Well, that was uneventful," Danny commented as they turned onto Keawe Street a few blocks from their destination. "I gotta hand it to you, babe, you kept your word- no thrilling explosions, no machine guns, no grenades… I'm proud of you."

Steve was less pleased. "I don't get it- there should have been someone there. After all this trouble to get a horse, we should've had a shootout or sabotage or _something_." He had deliberately picked Sand Island for its close-yet-remote location and the ability to minimize collateral damage. "What went wrong?"

"Don't know." Danny tapped the AC vent and silently cursed cheap automakers. "Could be any number of things, babe. We did plan this at the last minute."

"Are our CI's compromised?"

"Maybe. We'll figure it out tomorrow." Danny was more interested in a hot dinner and an early bedtime. He lurched forward suddenly as Steve stopped to avoid a motorcyclist running the stop sign. "Mind the horse!"

"The horse is fine." Steve started forward again, but stopped as a second motorcycle flew through the intersection. "Crap!" He glanced at Danny. "You get a license plate?"

"So you can beat them up later for running a stop sign? No, I'm too busy trying not to face plant on the dash." He pushed himself up with his good arm and glanced left and right. "See any more?"

Steve peered down the darkened alley between two office buildings. "No."

"So hurry up. Let's get this over with. I'm hungry."

Throwing Danny a look that he reserved for the detective's more verbal rants, Steve threw the truck into gear and made the final turn onto Pohukaina. They were three blocks from their destination when it happened.

…

The dump truck seemed innocent enough. At 7:45pm, it was plausibly making its final run of the day through the downtown business district and had just returned a fat, green dumpster to the pavement when Steve and Danny drove past. It pulled behind them onto the street, following for half a block before turning into aside for another dumpster.

Then the motorcycles reappeared.

Not one to believe in coincidence, Steve picked up the radio. "Duke? We've got two motorcycles, license plate XKF- 384 and the other starting with PTN-2." He paused as the pair criss-crossed in front of him. "Duke, do you copy?"

" _Stupid kids,_ " Danny muttered beside him.

"Hello? Duke, do you copy?" Steve tried again. The only response on the radio was static. Steve checked his phone. No bars.

"Danny, do you have signal on your phone?" Steve fumbled the phone in one hand, holding it on the dash as he searched for signal. "Danny?"

But Danny was abnormally silent.

"Hello? Earth to-" but Danny interrupted him.

"Steven." Danny's voice was dangerously quiet. "We have a problem."

Steve looked over and saw his partner frozen in place, eyes wide, staring at a small, red dot of light on his chest. "Ah shit!" Leaning forward, Steve peered out the window for the source of the laser. "Can you tell where it's from?"

"Uh, no." Danny gripped the door handle with white fingers and tried to hold perfectly still as the truck bounced over a pothole. "Can you stop, please? I would really rather not die tonight."

"The person hasn't shot yet, so it might not be a sniper, Danny," Steve stated as he slowed. "Maybe it's just a, uh... a kid with a laser pointer," he offered lamely.

Danny snorted. "You're a horrible liar, Steven."

Ahead of them, the motorcycles stopped, blocking the road. Behind them, the dump truck stopped as well and several men jumped out. Steve pulled the truck to a halt. The little dot on Danny's chest wavered for a moment, then stilled. Seeing it sent Steve's heart rate spiking, and judging by the throbbing vein in Danny's neck and his shallow breathing, he was faring no better. Steve reached under the seat for his gun

"What are you doing?" Risking a tiny bit of movement, Danny twisted his head to watch his partner. "You can't take on all of them by yourself."

"You have a better idea?"

"Yeah- wait for backup."

"What backup? They've blocked our phones and radio." Shoving a hand in his pocket, Steve retrieved his cell and showed Danny the lack of signal. "We're on our own until Duke realizes something went wrong."

"Swell. I hope he figures it out fast." Danny leaned his head back and closed his eyes, willing the little red circle to move somewhere else. "What are my chances if I try to duck really fast?"

"Don't. Just hold still. I'll think of something."

"Well think faster." Sweat beaded on Danny's forehead as he struggled to maintain his composure and absolute stillness.

Steve frowned. One hand on the wheel, he fingered his gun with the other and debated his options. But any ideas were cut short when a masked man with a rifle jumped out of the dump truck.

"Commander McGarrett," he called, raising his weapon toward the vehicle, "come out!" As he approached from behind, two more appeared in front of them, weapons drawn. "Come out, or we will shoot Detective Williams."

"Can you see the sniper?" Danny asked quietly.

"No, but…" Steve scanned the surrounding buildings for the gunman. "He's up there, probably," he said, nodding toward a skyscraper across the street. "It's where I would be."

"And where's Duke? SWAT?"

"Waiting for us at HQ." They were close, so close, and yet so far away as to be pointless. Steve flicked his phone on again, already knowing what he would see. "Still no signal."

The motorcycles and dump truck were now joined by a catering van and two sedans.

"Commander!" the man called impatiently. "I'm waiting!"

Danny fidgeted and watched the small dot on his shirt. "So what's the plan?"

"I don't know," Steve said, disquieted. "Just… just stay still." Tucking his phone under the seat, he checked his gun and slowly opened the door. "Don't move. I'll be back."

"You better." Danny watched with growing trepidation as his partner walked toward the first man, his hands raised in surrender. For a brief period, he allowed himself to hope that perhaps it was just some local punks having 'fun.'

" _Just a few kids out for a joyride_ ," he muttered. He watched as Steve and the man spoke for a few minutes, Steve gesturing angrily at the truck at one point. " _Just a few hot-headed idiots, that's all,_ " Danny whispered without conviction.

But then things became heated and any hope diminished. The man with the gun yelled something, Steve stepped back, and although Danny couldn't hear him, the meaning was clear.

Hands raised, Steve sank to his knees, leaning forward briefly to deposit his own weapon on the pavement in front of him. Another man stepped forward and searched him, emptying his pockets and dropping all the items- gun, spare clip, badge, pocketknife, wallet- into a bag. Then he was bound, blindfolded, and loaded into the catering van.

The man turned his attention to Danny. "Detective Williams!" he called out. "Come out of the truck."

Still frozen in his seat, Danny risked a glance at the red dot. _Was he allowed to come out? Or would the unseen sniper shoot him when he moved?_ To his surprise, the light had moved and was now situated on the cracked plastic of the center console. Taking it as permission, Danny unbuckled his seatbelt and gingerly opened the door.

"Hurry up, Detective," the man growled, reaching inside, grabbing Danny's arm, and roughly dragging him from the truck. "Lay on the ground," he instructed.

 _Why am I the one who has to lay down?_ Danny thought, but he obediently lowered himself to the pavement and locked his fingers behind his neck. Small, quick hands ran up and down his legs and patted around the waist before emptying his pockets. Twisting his head, Danny watched as the catering van carrying his partner drove away.

"Where are you taking him?" he risked asking.

The man ignored him. Pulling out a second cloth bag, he began to drop Danny's belongings inside. Danny heard a quiet _clink_ as his keys disappeared into the sack.

"I hope you know your evil plan, whatever it is, won't work." Danny was feeling braver now that a sniper's gun wasn't trained on his heart. "And taking us in the middle of downtown Honolulu? That's not a smart move."

The man chuckled. "I think the plan is working fine, Detective," he said as he pulled Danny's wrists behind his back and slipped handcuffs on them. Reaching into one pocket, he pulled out a dark, cloth hood and gestured for Danny to lean forward so it could be draped over his head. "Perhaps you should consider that your little charade-" he tapped Danny's fake animal control uniform- "was not a smart move," and he pulled the hood over Danny's face, cinching it slightly so it wouldn't come loose.

Danny closed his eyes and fought off a wave of panic as claustrophobia clawed at him. Grabbing the back of his shirt, the man pulled him to his feet. "Come on; you're going for a ride."


	9. Chapter 9- Wednesday evening

**A/N:** **To Cubit2 who asked if life was throwing me good distractions: yes and no. Had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to join a very special open water swimmer who was passing through the area. I took advantage of it- how could I say no?- and it was a blast.**

 **But less pleasantly, I had some family issues that came up. I'm sure it'll make great fodder for a story one day, but the ongoing situation is not good. Looking forward to it being over quickly.**

 **To that end: Stress, meet Whump. He's your new best friend.**

 **…**

Steve shifted restlessly against the iron pillar biting into his back as his hands were untied and fastened with cuffs behind the I-beam. The men holding him were not too gentle and he already knew a couple of spots near his shoulder were sure to be bruised tomorrow. As the cuffs were cinched tightly around his wrists, he flexed, trying to keep the blood moving.

The place around him smelled dank, musty, and felt large, but Steve couldn't make out more than vague areas of light and dark under the cloth wrapped around his head. There were no traffic noises, no industrial sounds or even the hum of an air conditioner; just the harsh muttering and breathing of his captors. The ground was dusty and dirty beneath his hands, and the smell hinted of old wood and fresh mold.

Steve waited until the men had left before he ventured to speak. "Danny?" he tried in a low voice once the footsteps had faded. Any echo of his question was lost in the depths of the building. "You here?"

"Hey Steve." Danny's nervous laugh drifted across the space from somewhere to Steve's right. "Nice of you to join the party."

The detective's tone was pitched higher than normal and decidedly anxious, which did nothing to lessen Steve's own anxiety. "Danny, are you hurt?"

"Hurt? No. Can't see a damn thing, though. They've got me blindfolded."

"Me, too, D." Steve sensed that there was more Danny wasn't telling him. "Any idea where we are?"

"Basement in a warehouse on the outskirts of Chinatown," came the surprisingly detailed answer. "There's a row of windows above you, but they're almost all boarded up."

Steve frowned. "Okay. I thought you were blindfolded?"

"I am. Or I was." Danny paused to clear his throat with a nervous cough. "They took the blindfold off and replaced it with this other thing. It's thicker."

"Oh." Steve didn't have time to puzzle over this development as Danny continued.

"They want information."

Steve didn't miss the slight waver to his voice. He listened carefully as Danny took a deep breath that sounded disturbingly close to a sob.

"They're going to torture me to get it."

"Torture _you_?" Nonplussed, Steve tried to make sense of what Danny was telling him. "How can you know all of this? Did they say something to you?"

"No." The usually vocal detective was quiet and contemplative for several long seconds. "It's just a deduction." A slight snort, which might have been a failed laugh, accompanied Danny's next statement: "I'm a detective, so that's what I do, right? I deduce things."

Then a new sound reached Steve's ears, a very slight sound that he strained to hear. It sounded like leather, he decided, stretching or pulling against something. "Danny?" he ventured. "What have they done to you?"

"Nothing. At least, not yet. But… uh…" Another shaky inhale paused the trembling voice as Danny collected himself. "I think they're going to waterboard me."

"What?" Steve stopped trying to scrape his handcuffs against the rusting metal beam and focused on his partner. "How do you-"

"I'm strapped down to some kind of table. It's tilted down a bit and my head's on the downhill side. I can't move anything- arms, legs, head- it's all strapped down." The odd stretching sound resumed and Steve imagined Danny pulling at the restraints, searching for a weakness. "How, uh…" Danny cleared his throat again in a failed attempt to hide the shaking in his voice. "How long do people usually last before they, um, break?"

Steve's heart pulled painfully at his partner's distress. "It differs from person to person, Danny," he hedged.

"Okay. Like…?"

"I don't think that's really helpful information."

"Dammit, Steve, quit stalling and tell me how long."

Danny was desperate for information, but the answer he wanted was not one Steve could give. Steve sighed. "Fourteen seconds."

"Oh." Another cough and a _hrmph_ followed his brief acknowledgement. "That short, huh?"

The number was clearly unexpectedly smaller than what Danny had anticipated. Steve listened to Danny squirm against the restraints, his claustrophobia likely competing with traumatic memories of near-drowning as a child, both feelings vying for first place in the detective's panicked mind. Fear, more than discomfort, was the driving factor here.

"When you were… I mean…" Danny tried to be delicate with his question, considering the circumstances of his partner's last session with that method of torture. "How long did you last?"

"I've been waterboarded three times," Steve said slowly as he debated how much information to give. "Once during training. I lasted five minutes. The second time was during a classified op that went FUBAR. That session was interrupted around three and a half minutes when troops stormed the compound and we were rescued. And the third time was Wo Fat. But I honestly don't remember much of that."

"So your best is five minutes, huh?"

"I think so, yeah."

"I thought you could hold your breath longer than that."

"I can- barely. But the water doesn't last the full five minutes. It's an on-off thing. They pour it on for a bit, and then they stop, and then they start again. But torture," Steve frowned, trying to decide how to best explain it, " _this_ torture in particular, is designed to overcome training and trigger involuntary muscular, neurological, or chemical responses. In this case, the gag reflex is triggered."

"And you can't out-train that? There's no secret SEAL trick for getting around it?"

"I've had some training that helps," Steve admitted, "but nothing is perfect because the reflexes are automatic. The biggest thing is to not panic."

"How do I do that?"

Now it was Steve's turn to laugh, short and humorless. "Sorry, buddy. I got no advice for you there."

"So… what does it feel like?"

Steve grimaced as images of Wo Fat approaching him with a damp rag and a cattle prod jumped to the front of his thoughts. "It feels like you're drowning. Like someone is holding you under." He twisted uncomfortably as he tested his own restraints. "It burns because it runs up your nose and down your throat. You can try to hold your breath, but the angle of your head usually makes it difficult to keep the water out. The feeling of water in the nose and throat triggers the gag reflex and panic, your heart rate spikes, and that causes your body to consume more oxygen than normal. Instead of being able to hold your breath for a minute, for example, you suddenly can only hold it for 30 seconds."

"Great," Danny muttered sarcastically. "Just great. Why drown me when they can just make me feel like I'm drowning over and over again? This is gonna be _so much_ fun." He cleared his throat and lay quietly for a minute, apparently thinking. "Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"Listen, if anything happens… if I inhale too much…"

"Nothing's going to happen," Steve interjected quickly. _Nothing that a doctor can't fix, I hope_ , he added to himself. He wanted desperately to have something comforting to say, some words of reassurance based on previous experiences, but none of his past experiences had given him anything comforting to say. Instead, he had been left with an uneasy loss of control and vague fear of drowning and suffocation. It was a new, unfamiliar feeling, one that was wholly unexpected when he first experienced it months after that fateful mission, and he struggled to keep it hidden from his therapist and his CO. "It should be me on the bench, Danny. I'll tell them that you don't know anything."

"No, no, you will _not_. I need you out there, wherever you are, figuring a way out of this mess. If you end up on this bench, we're both screwed."

Steve didn't tell Danny that he currently couldn't think of a way out of the situation. In fact, he was fairly certain that if they switched places, he could endure more and buy more time while Danny thought up a decent plan for escape. He was about to say as much when the slamming of a door and stiff footsteps announced the arrival of their adversary.

"Detective Williams. Commander McGarrett. Welcome."

Steve turned his head at the voice. "Zhang Jian."

"Very good, Commander." The tone was polite. Patient. And decidedly evil.

"I thought we ran you off a few years ago," Danny put in sourly.

"A temporary leave of absence," the Chinese-American mobster said blandly.

Steve tracked the man as he walked across the room and stood presumably next to the table where Danny lay. "Well, Detective, I apologize in advance. This may be rather unpleasant for you."

"Really?" Danny retorted. "Can't be any worse than what my partner is planning for you."

Mr. Jian chuckled unpleasantly. "I think I'm going to enjoy this," and he patted Danny's face not very gently. Danny winced. "Shall I explain the rules?" Mr. Jian didn't wait for an answer. "The rules of this game are quite simple: I ask a question. Commander McGarrett answers. If he fails to answer then you, detective, suffer the consequences."

Danny didn't need to be told what the consequences would be.

"Shall we begin?"

 **A/N: My options were: short post now or long post later. That's probably the way it will be for the next few weeks. So: what's your preference? Shorter chapters sooner, or longer chapters later?**


	10. Chapter 10- In the Belly of the Beast

**A/N: Wow, thank you for all the reviews! I'm sorry I haven't responded to everyone personally this week. On top of last week's situation, we now find ourselves with one less job… and that job happened to be the one with all the health and dental insurance. So that's fun…**

 **A/N: Warnings for language and intense situations.**

" _Shall we begin?_ "

But rather than jump immediately into whatever torture he had planned, Zhang Jian opted to 'soften them up' a bit first. Demanding to know where "it" was, he left his burly guards to carry out the punishment as they saw fit, and so each wrong answer was accompanied by a sharp blow or stinging slap, leaving Danny sore and bruised with a slight tingling in his jaw. And from the sound of things, Steve appeared to be faring no better.

"Where is it?" Jian demanded again from somewhere across the room, and a methodical slap followed the demand a few seconds later when no answer was given. "Where." _Slap._ "Is." _Slap._ "It?" _Slap._

Annoyed, Danny jerked his head toward the voice. "I don't know! Steve doesn't know! Tell your Meat Tenderizer here to lay off! I can't remember what I don't know!"

"He's telling the truth," Steve corroborated angrily. "We don't know what 'it' is. What are you looking for?"

"What am I looking for? Really?" Jian's footsteps crossed the room and stopped just in front of Steve. "You have had how many days- three? four?- and you still have no idea why the horse is important?"

"We already know about the drugs," Steve said, trying to buy time and spare his partner from another round of blows. Danny had borne the brunt of it so far.

Somewhere nearby, Danny spit a wad of blood onto the floor and massaged his cut lip with his tongue. Wisely, he kept his mouth shut as Steve kept Jian and his henchmen distracted.

"The horse is carrying an unknown amount of pharmaceuticals," Steve continued, "probably in its 'horn.' We know you and others are interested in acquiring them for resale. And no, we don't know where the drugs are." As he spoke, he stiffened, bracing for the blow that he felt sure was soon to come

"Drugs?" Jian sounded incredulous. "You think this is about a handful of pills?" He clucked in disappointment as he paced back and forth between the two men. "I thought Five-0 was Hawaii's best, but this is really quite sad."

"Yeah, well, we're down a few people at the moment," Danny put in.

"Ah, yes. Kelly and Kalakaua. They must be the brains behind the operation because all I see here is brawn… and not much of that, either." Reaching under Danny's shirt, he seized a piece of skin between his fingers and pulled as the detective grimaced. "Not really the same build as your partner, are you? A little softer, I'd say."

"Bite me, Bobby Flay," Danny growled through gritted teeth.

Jian chuckled. "Ah, so you're the comic relief, Detective. Perhaps I should go find the rest of your task force and try this little exercise with them since I don't seem to be making much progress with either one of you two."

"Good luck with that," Danny grunted. "They're out of town."

"Really?" Jian clucked his tongue. "A shame. I suppose we shall have to play a different game. This one involves water… but I think you already knew that."

There was a squeak as a faucet was turned and water splashed across the floor.

"Oh, stop squirming, Detective Williams." Jian sounded slightly annoyed, as though Danny were a pet or small child.

Unable to see, Steve tensed as the sounds of his partner's harsh breathing reached his ears. He waited anxiously, his breath hot against his face under the hood. "What are you doing to him?" he demanded.

"You should be more concerned with what I am about to do to him," Jian returned. "At the moment, I am holding a towel over your partner's face- rather tightly, I might add- and he doesn't seem to like it. I haven't even wet it yet."

A very muffled " _Go to hell!_ " was heard in response.

"Ah, yes, you are well on your way there, Detective Williams." There was a heavy splash and a spattering of water across the concrete before he spoke again. "Can you feel that, Detective? Just a bit damp, a few drops of water… Ah, you _can_ feel it. Your pulse is racing." Jian _tsked_ as he removed his fingers from Danny's wrist. "Feeling cooperative yet? Or would you like more?"

Seated not far away, Steve grimaced. Of course Danny didn't like it. Danny was claustrophobic. He probably felt like he was suffocating. "What do you want to know?" he called.

"Suddenly cooperative, Commander McGarrett? But I haven't even begun the fun part yet."

On the other side of the room, Danny twisted his head as the damp towel tightened around his face, sucking in a frightened, wheezy breath through the heavy cloth. He could hear vague voices as his partner argued with Jian, but he was too focused on breathing to comprehend what was being said. Suddenly, the towel was removed and cool, dry air washed over his mouth and nose. Someone patted his face and squeezed, a warning. "Go ahead, Detective. Talk. Tell Commander McGarrett how much you are enjoying this little game."

It took Danny a moment to catch his breath and find his voice. "Changed my mind, babe… let's not go to the Escape Room…. this weekend," he rasped. "This is good…good enough for me."

Mr. Jian was less amused. "Quit wasting my time, Detective Williams. There is no escaping from this room until we get what we want. Where is it?"

" 'Where is _it_?' " Danny drew in another lungful of air and launched into a rant before Steve could stop him. "A better question is, ' _What_ is it?' _It_ could be anything: papers, thumb drive, key ring, old coke bottle…"

" _Danny…_ "

Annoyed, Danny ignored Steve's quiet warning and kept going: "And the only reason to kidnap us to get this _Thing_ is that it must be really important. Like the bootleg copy of the next Star Wars film. Or maybe the cure for cancer? Or how about nuclear launch codes?"

Jian had had enough. "Shut up!"

Steve winced at the loud smack and was relieved when his partner fell silent. "Mr. Jian, the horse in the back of the trailer is exactly like we found him. Just the harness- nothing else. You have the animal. If this _thing_ is on it, you can search for it yourself."

"You think I haven't done that? My men have thoroughly searched the horse. It isn't there."

 _Of course it wasn't_. And the obvious assumption was that Steve and Danny had taken it, whatever it was, and hidden it somewhere since they had already been searched. Steve tried to think of another logical option, something to divert the man's anger elsewhere. "The horse has been missing for almost three days. Maybe it fell off?" Steve suggested.

"Unlikely."

"You searched us- we haven't taken it. And like Danny said, I don't even know what _it_ is." Steve didn't hear the fist swinging through the air toward him until it collided with his jaw. He jerked sideways, his momentum stopped suddenly by the handcuffs biting into his wrists.

"Steve?" Danny called out worriedly as Steve sank to one knee, shaking his head and working his jaw carefully.

"Your commander is pushing his luck," Jian explained. "Perhaps he will respond better to this."

The towel was thrown back of Danny's face so quickly that he didn't have a chance to take a breath. There was no gentle sprinkling of water this time; instead, with a cold splash, the entire bucket was dumped over his head. He gasped from the sudden shock, inhaled, choked, and then jerked against the straps restraining him to the bench, fighting for air.

Though unable to see, Steve heard the splash and subsequent struggle and could guess what had occurred. "Stop!" he called out. "Stop it!"

But the sounds did not stop.

"Well, Commander? Your partner is waiting."

"I don't know what the fuck it is!" Steve growled out. "Tell me what it is and maybe I can help you!"

"You don't know?" Jian whipped the towel away from Danny's mouth. Danny sucked in breath in a loud gasp, hacking and coughing as he cleared the water from his lungs. "You are playing games with the life of your friend- do you realize that?"

"I'm not the one torturing him," Steve returned. "You can waterboard Danny until he drowns-"

"Don't… don't give him… any ideas," Danny managed hoarsely between breaths.

"-but that won't change the fact that neither of us know about this object you want. Eventually," Steve pressed angrily, "one of us will break, but it won't be the answer you'll want. We don't know what you want, so whatever we say will be a lie. If you want reliable information, ask a question that we can answer."

The room was quiet for a long minute. Except for the dripping water and the harsh sound of Danny's breathing, nothing else could be heard. At last, Jian spoke.

"A question you can answer?" His footsteps crossed the room at a quick clip, stopping just before Steve. "And what kind of question might that be?"

"I don't know. You tell me. What else do you want to know?"

Without warning, Jian brought his shoe down on Steve's hand. Steve's sudden, involuntary cry of pain shut the rant Danny was about to deliver, at least temporarily. Jian stepped back and kicked Steve with his foot. "I want to know where Daniel Ma is. I want to know where his wife and daughter are. I want to know what your real mission is. And I want to know where the information is. Pick one. Pick any of them. Give me the right answer and I might- _might_ \- spare your partner's life."

On the other side of the room, the refilled bucket of water had begun to overflow. A trickle of water, having journeyed across the floor, found Steve's pants and began to soak through the material. Steve brought his legs under him and pulled himself carefully upright. Eyes closed, he turned his face in the direction of his captor. "You know, Mr. Jian, that I can't tell you anything that you want to know."

"No? What about Daniel Ma's arrest? Surely some part of that is public knowledge."

"He was arrested Sunday afternoon." That, at least, was public knowledge and Steve felt no guilt in providing the information.

"Who arrested him? He isn't at HPD."

 _Why do you care?_ Steve wanted to ask. What interested did a Chinese mobster have in a Russian-American computer technician? "We don't know. It's a separate case, not our jurisdiction."

"But you visited his wife and daughter."

"To learn about the horse."

Jian began to chuckle. "You expect me to believe that the Five-0 task force, Hawaii's finest, were only told to find the missing horse? And in three days, you've failed to learn anything about who Mr. Ma really is or what the animal is carrying? Forgive me if I don't believe you."

Danny spoke up. "We've been busy."

"Clearly," Jian said drily. Pivoting sharply on his heel, he crossed the room to the detective's side. Slapping the towel over Danny's mouth and nose, he turned the hose on the detective's face. "How long do you think your partner can last, Commander?"

Steve winced as Danny writhed and pounded against the bench in the background. "Don't inhale, Danny!" he called. "Don't- _oomph!_ " Steve sank to his knees under the force of the blow, the cuffs biting into his wrists as he collapsed against the pillar. Danny's struggle continued as Steve wheezed for breath. "Let him… let him go, Jian," he begged as he caught his breath.

"That's not how this game works," Jian said blandly as a gargled scream escaped from Danny's mouth under the stream of water.

"I can't tell you what you want to know." Steve had begun counting, registering each agonizing second in the back of his mind.

"Can't or won't?"

"Even if I could, you should know I wouldn't."

"At the expense of your partner's life?"

Steve didn't answer. He couldn't. Oaths be damned; he wouldn't be the one to tell Grace that he had sacrificed her father for some drug lord. "No," he whispered.

The water stopped. Danny retched, then coughed raggedly in short gasps. "Danny?" Steve lost track of Jian as he focused wholly on his partner. "Danny!" he shouted.

Danny wheezed, coughed, choked on something- whether vomit or bile or water Steve didn't know- and retched again.

"Commander." Jian was apparently standing next to Steve. "McGarrett!"

But Steve's focus was elsewhere. As Danny's coughing settled and began to calm, Steve remained singularly focused, his body poised toward his partner, tense with fierce concern. "Come on Danny," Steve encouraged, oblivious to everything else around him. "You're okay- breathe. Just breath."

"Commander McGarrett!" Jian demanded Steve's attention with a sharp slap to the face. "Where is Daniel Ma?"

But Danny had a different question. Still panting as he recovered his breath, it took him a moment to push the words out. "How… long?"

"How long what?" Jian returned, not catching the intended meaning. But Steve understood

"Ten seconds longer than average, Danny."

"Heh…" Danny cleared his throat. "Not bad… for a Jersey haole… eh?"

No, it wasn't bad at all. In fact, it was downright impressive. Steve was certainly stunned by his normally water-phobic friend, but Danny's accomplishment was only prolonging their painful and torturous captivity… one from which Steve could think of no escape.

"Not bad?" Jian mused, apparently now understanding the previous question. "So are you enjoying yourself, Mr. Williams? Tell me where Mr. Ma is, and I will spare you the next round."

"Tell me what… the Mystery Thing is… and I'll think about it," Danny spat back.

Steve stiffened. "Shut up, Danny." _Let me handle this._ It was no time for snarky comments, but Danny didn't get the message. He was on a roll.

"I'm serious, Steven. This freakin' horse has something so valuable that Dingus here is willing to kidnap and torture two cops to get it. Who looks at a horse and thinks, ' _I know, I'll hide this really important stuff on this animal.'_ ? What is it? Biowarfare formulas? Nuclear launch codes? Buried treasure?"

"You should have listened to your partner, Detective Williams," Jian said softly. Throwing the towel forcefully over Danny's face, he turned the nozzle of the hose over on him and calmly addressed Steve. "You want to know what 'it' is? The horse should have a thumb drive hidden on it with information, information that is rather valuable to us." Ignoring the loud thumping as Danny pounded his feet against the bench, he continued, "Unfortunately, after an extensive search, it has not been found." Danny kicked and struggled on, his screams reduced to a muted drone.

"Stop! Let him breathe, Jian!" Steve pleaded. "A dead cop is no good to you."

"First let me finish." Jian must have passed the running hose to one of his men because he approached Steve now. "There are other problems with your horse. It is not the size that we have heard reported for the missing horse. It is not quite the right color. And finally," Jian stopped in front of Steve and with the toe of his shoe, he prodded Steve uncomfortably, "it is the wrong gender."

 _Shit_.

"Do you know what I think?" Jian nudged Steve again with his shoe. "I think this is the wrong horse." Turning away, he shouted something in Chinese. The water was shut off. Steve strained to hear some sound in the sudden, eerie quiet, but Danny made no noise.

"Danny?" Hesitantly, Steve tried again. "Danny? Talk to me, buddy."

Finally, with a prolonged gasp, Steve heard Danny suck in a badly-needed breath. He sagged against the cold, iron beam in relief. "You're okay, Danny. Just breathe."

In front of him, Jian's foot tapped impatiently. "Well? Am I wrong? Did you give me the wrong horse?"

As Danny coughed and spit and dry-heaved, Steve debated how to answer the question. "We never gave you a horse," he said finally.

Jian skipped blithely over his excuse. "I find it interesting that two horses of similar color should go missing in the same week. And I find it equally odd that two of Hawaii's finest are sent to fetch said horse while disguised as Animal Control officers. Can you explain that?"

Having satisfactorily cleared his lungs, Danny lay abnormally quiet. Steve regarded his friend's silence as a severe warning; whatever happened, he needed to end this now. But he had no good ideas, no suitable plans, and no decent answer to Jian's question.

"Well, Commander?"

When Steve failed to answer, Jian turned away. "No? Unfortunate." With a squeak, the hose returned to life.

"No! No, please!" Danny begged in muffled tones from under the towel. "I can't-" but his words were drowned out in a gasp as the water hit his face. He gargled, choked, and then went completely silent.

Steve listened in growing horror. "Jian! Don't! Just… just let me think!" Steve pleaded painfully.

"Think?" Jian crouched near him, his breath hot in Steve's ear. "Think about what, Commander? It is a simple question."

"I just need a minute. Please." Listening attentively to the noise in the background, Steve noted Danny's persistent silence and the lack of struggle. No noise at all, vocal or otherwise, emanated from the man. Steve knew Danny couldn't take much more, if any. Already, he had gone far beyond the average man. How much more could he bear?

But Danny answered that question for him.

" _Mmmmpgh!_ " With surprising volume, the Jersey detective suddenly made himself heard under the towel and the stream of water.

"Stop!" Jian ordered. "Excuse me, Commander." Patting Steve's cheek roughly Jian crossed the room and pulled the towel from Danny's face. "Yes, Detective? You have something to say?"

"St… stop… please…" With a sob and a wet inhale, Danny trembled as he finally let go of his last ounce of will power. "I'll tell you anything… just no more, please… no more."

Steve cursed under his breath and dropped his head.

Danny Williams was broken.

 **A/N: Also, I took my best guess at how this would work. Apologies if the descriptions aren't accurate. Giving Danny a short-duration whump just isn't as much fun, but dragging it out beyond what Steve could do would be unrealistic. Since this was very much on-again, off-again, I felt okay dragging it on a bit since D could initially catch his breath between sessions. If Jian were doing it properly, Danny would only be allowed a breath or two between takes, not what is depicted here.**

 **Also, since life hasn't been nice lately, I decided to split this chapter and have more Danny whump in the next one as well! Misery loves company, right?**


	11. Chapter 11- Broken

**A/N: And we're back! Short chapter, sorry. Running on very little sleep. It's not beta'd or proofed, so apologies for any errors. Hoping to respond to the backlog of reviews this afternoon.**

Danny coughed, retched, and spit something- _water? bile? blood?_ \- onto the floor. "Please…" he gasped, "please, no more. I can't… I'll tell you whatever… whatever you want to know."

Jian chuckled softly. "You see, Commander?" he called in Steve's direction. "Your partner seems to know something after all."

Steve made no response. _Danny was breathing… Danny was speaking… He was alive; that was good._ But his relief was overshadowed by fear. Physically, he was confident Danny would recover if they could escape. But mentally…?

Mentally, Steve wasn't so sure. He'd seen strong men broken by less. Teammates. Men he thought of as brothers. Returning a casket home was one thing; returning a shell of a man was something quite different. But _How bad is it, D?_ wasn't a question he could ask at the moment.

Ignoring Steve's brooding silence, Jian turned back to the detective. "You are making a wise decision, Detective Williams. What can you tell me about the horse?"

"It's…" Danny gagged, coughed, and spit up again. "It's fake. The horse is fake." He swallowed thickly and continued: "We… we wanted to catch… the people after the horse… so we… we set up a sting… it was all a trap… I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry…"

The final plea was meant for Steve.

"And the location of Daniel Ma?"

"He was taken into… into custody Sunday afternoon."

"And…?" Jian wanted to know more.

Danny gulped. Then the words spilled out, tumbling over each other in short, hasty phrases, as though Jian might change his mind if Danny slowed or stopped. "Don't know who. Pretended to be FBI. Not FBI. Called local office, they don't have him. Maybe CIA." Danny inhaled rapidly between each sentence, nearly hyperventilating at the terror of being placed under the water again. "We don't know much for certain. We tried to ask his wife and daughter. They thought he was arrested. That's it."

"None of that is new information to me. Perhaps a bit more time with this…" Jian threatened and turned on the hose.

"NO! No, please, please…" Danny moaned and babbled incomprehensibly for a moment. "I know more, please!"

Steve listened to the water running across the concrete toward him and Danny's panicked sniffling across the room. There was nothing he could say at this point to help him- Danny would tell them everything at this point, anything to avoid being put under the water again. Their only saving grace, Steve realized, was how little they truly knew.

"Well?" Jian broke the quiet impatiently. "I'm waiting…"

"Ma's wife and daughter… they disappeared."

"What do you mean?" Jian asked sharply.

"We went back Tuesday, but they were gone and the house was for sale."

"Where did they go?"

"I don't know."

"Not helpful, Detective. What else can you tell me?"

"Uh… Someone broke in, hacked the system, stole files…"

"Hacked into _your_ system?"

"Yes."

"What files were stolen?"

"Everything about Daniel Ma."

"And the backups?"

"They got them, too."

"Who got them?"

"We don't know."

"What was in the files?"

"Don't know."

"Who did the research? You? Did you forget everything?"

"Uh…" Danny suddenly wavered.

"Yes…?" Jian bit out with impatience.

But to Steve's surprise, Danny still hesitated.

A small shock went through Steve's system. Steve had done the research. Steve knew Ma's background, remembered almost everything in the now-missing files. Steve knew details that Jian didn't know. Danny was protecting him. Despite everything his friend had just suffered, the man was still protecting him. 

"I think the detective needs a reminder," Jian mused.

"No! No, no, no, no, nonono…" But Danny's cries were drowned out as the towel was thrown back over his face. Beneath the rush of water, his screams were reduced to faint garglings.

"Stop," Steve growled and pulled himself to his feet. "Stop. It was me."

The water stopped, and Danny coughed and sobbed with relief as the cloth was removed from his face again. Jian's footsteps rapidly crossed the room, stopping just in front of Steve. "You know what was in his file?"

"I did."

"You _did_?"

"I was drugged. Someone broke in Monday night while I was still at the office. They drugged me, took the files, cleared the hard drive, and wiped the security footage. The drug they injected gave me amnesia- I don't remember anything between noon Monday and Tuesday morning." A lie, buried in truth. "Danny had already gone home for the evening. The files were erased before he arrived the next morning, and I have no memory of any of it." Steve could only hope Jian believed him.

"You were injected with a drug?" Jian's question served the additional purpose of confirming what Steve already suspected: that the Chinese were not behind Monday night's incident.

"Yes. Left arm."

"What was it?"

"Don't know." Not quite true, but the complex chemical name that Charlie sent back was not something Steve could remember.

A strong hand gripped his wrist and the sleeve was torn away. A finger poked his arm, just below the elbow. Jian made an indeterminate noise in his throat. A moment later, the blindfold was ripped away and Steve found himself blinking in the bright beam of a powerful flashlight. Jian stood before him, studying his face curiously. "So… You remember nothing?"

"No." Steve turned his head away from the Jian's silhouette and the blinding light. The rest of the room was shrouded in darkness, although he could faintly see his partner strapped down not far away. A single fluorescent light flickered over Danny's trembling body and Steve could see his hands clenching and unclenching rapidly. Water pooled on the floor underneath him, and a man standing over Danny held the soggy towel and hose.

Steve was disappointed he couldn't see the man's face. He wanted to remember that face.

Jian's voice pulled him back. "Not even from Monday afternoon, Commander? You have no memory of Monday afternoon?"

"I only know what Danny told me."

"Hmph." A dissatisfied grunt escaped the Chinese mobster. "If you know nothing, then you are useless to me."

"No!" Danny screamed, apparently taking this to mean further torture. "No, no, no! We know more! Ask us more!"

"You've wasted my time, Detective. I doubt very much you know anything of value to me."

"No, please! Ask me more! Ask me more!"

"Danny!" Steve called. "Danny, it's going to be okay. Deep breaths, buddy."

Danny rushed on. "Look, the docks- we caught a man down at the docks looking for the horse! I can tell you about him!"

"I already know everything about him," Jian said dismissively.

"Hoof prints, along the H3- Steve thought he saw hoof prints."

"Not useful."

Danny was nearly hyperventilating now, his chest rising and falling too rapidly as terror overwhelmed him.

"Danny!" Steve tried again. "Slow your breathing- in, out… in, out…"

But Danny ignored him. "The company… rented the horse, pink princess… please! Ask me about them! I can tell you more!"

Steve closed his eyes as his partner's yells devolved into mumbled fits of crying and babbling. Danny's terror- and Jian's blatant apathy- evoked a strong feelings and long-buried memories of a terrifying night in Bamyan valley in Afghanistan. He shuddered. Pushing the memories forcibly away, he turned toward Jian. "What do you intend to do with us?" he called to the retreating man.

Although the man was already halfway across the room, he stopped and gave Steve a very studious once-over. "Do you want one last chance, Commander? Very well, I grant it: tell me where the real horse is."

"We don't know."

"No?" Jian was not amused. "You sacrifice your life- and your partner's- over such a small thing?"

Steve made no reply.

Jian sighed. "On your own head be it." His feet turned away from Steve and marched crisply past Danny and out the door at the far end. Before the door closed, his final words were issued to one of the guards in the room. "Clean this up."

The order was carried out immediately. A few seconds later, Danny cried out and was suddenly silent. In the dim light of the room, Steve couldn't see what had happened, and as the footsteps approached, he struggled but was powerless to stop what came next: a rush of noise and color overwhelmed him, a sharp pain, and then nothingness.

 **…**

A dark Humvee pulled to a stop on the side of the gravel road, its windshield wipers tossing the snow to the side as the heavy flakes collected on the glass. A door opened and two men were pushed out into the cold. Neither seemed to feel the harsh, biting air or mind the heavy thump as their bodies were unceremoniously dropped to the ground. The door slammed, the engine revved, and the Humvee pulled away, spitting wads of snow from its tires. Neither man stirred.

 **A/N: So… any guesses where they are?**


	12. Chapter 12- Not in Kansas anymore

**A/N: Kudos to those who guessed the location correctly!**

 **A/N: Disclaimer: I know concussions can be severe, etc, but having already gone with the 'drugged unconscious' route, I was looking for something different (not drugs) this time around. I've opted for the Hollywood version of the head blow: knocks you out but with minimal lasting damage. Before you give me grief for it, keep in mind this is fiction for a reason. The show takes some serious liberties with technology and science; I'm going to take a few liberties with the body and medicine.**

 _A dark Humvee pulled to a stop on the side of the gravel road, its windshield wipers tossing the snow to the side as the heavy flakes collected on the glass. A door in the side opened and two men were pushed out into the cold. Neither seemed to feel the harsh, biting air or mind the heavy thump as their bodies were unceremoniously dropped to the ground. The door slammed, the engine revved, and the Humvee pulled away, spitting wads of snow from its tires. Neither man stirred._

…

The first thing Danny heard was the revving of an engine, following by _thub thub thub_ of tires on snow. Then those sounds faded into silence. Danny raised his head groggily but couldn't see anything under the cloth hood. With his hands bound behind his back he couldn't do much, but he could at least tell he was lying prone in perhaps an inch of snow on a rough surface, possibly a gravel road. He rolled over. Cold damp leaked through his clothes, chilling his skin and fingers as he flexed and tried to free himself, but to no avail. Danny finally gave up and lay still, thinking.

After being told to 'take care of them,' Mr. Jian's henchmen had knocked both men out. Danny hadn't come to until much later, when they were on an airplane. There, while playing 'dead,' he had taken time to calm his frayed nerves and tried to convince his exhausted body and frightened mind that the worst was over. At least, the worst _seemed_ to be over. But they certainly weren't out of the woods yet, not by a long shot.

Danny stretched against his bindings, testing them gently. His bruised wrists complained, but that was the least of his worries. He'd had some time during the flight for his clothes to dry, but he had no idea how long he'd been unconscious, nor how long the flight had actually been. His only clue was the residual dampness that pervaded his shirt and pants (only slightly wet), and his clumped and extremely uncomfortable underwear.

Steve, as far as he could tell, had yet to wake up. That, or he was following Danny's line of thought and playing unconscious until a good opportunity presented itself. He was unsure how much time had passed since they had been in the warehouse, but despite the hood over his head, one thing was clear: it was daylight.

Danny waited until he was absolutely certain that their captors had gone. "Steve?" he grunted after a moment.

No response.

"Steven!"

Nothing.

Danny rolled over, then again and again, toward the _thump_ he'd heard earlier where he presumed his partner had been dumped out of the vehicle. A few moments later, he bumped into something relatively warm and soft. Sitting up, he scooted beside his partner's body until he found his face and tried to pull the hood off, but it snagged so that only Steve's mouth was exposed.

"Steve!" Danny called again, his voice muffled by the cloth over his own face. "Wake up, you big oaf!" and he slapped Steve's face as best as he could in his bindings. Holding his hand over Steve's mouth, he could feel the tiny puff of warm air as his partner exhaled every few seconds. "Steven!"

Steve groaned. Elated, Danny grasped his shoulder and shook him vigorously. "Come on, wakey, wakey."

When Steve produced no further sound or movement, Danny grew frustrated. Shifting around, he leaned back and positioned himself so that his mouth was as close as possible to his partner's ear. Then he cleared his throat and yelled in his most forceful voice: "McGarrett! You going to sleep all day? Rise and shine, sailor!"

His efforts were rewarded when Steve jerked upright, plowing into Danny's chin.

"Ow!" Danny rolled out of the way as his partner struggled upright. "What the crap, Steven? I said 'wake up' not 'jump up'!"

"Danny?" Steve's muffled voice came through the thick hood. Coupled with the hard thump to the head and the fact that Steve had been asleep or unconscious for much longer than Danny, his partner's confusion was to be expected. "Where are you?" Steve muttered groggily after a moment.

"Over here. Your left." Danny rolled toward him again and bumped into his leg. "My hands and feet are zip tied, though. Don't suppose they left a knife in one of those pockets?"

"Nope."

"Course not," Danny huffed. He tried to sit up, not at all enjoying the uncomfortable numbing as snow soaked through his shirt. "Maybe you can grab a rock and start sawing mine off, babe?"

No answer. Danny could feel Steve shift around next to him. Then his partner seemed to stand- or so Danny guessed, because Steve moved away from him, leaving him sitting in the snow. He heard Steve grunt a couple of times in coordination with some kind of _thump_ , and then there was a light _pop_.

"Babe?"

"Got 'em."

A moment later, the bag was pulled from Danny's head and he found himself blinking up at the grinning face of his partner. "What? How? Or is that classified?"

"They're cheap zip ties, Danny, the kind you use for computer cables. Just apply the right pressure and the locking mechanism comes off." Crouching behind Danny, Steve took his partner's hands and positioned them properly. "Okay, stand up and bring your arms down like this," he said, demonstrating.

Danny tried to mimic him. "Ouch."

"Again. And yeah, it can hurt if you don't do it just right. Sorry."

Danny did it again. On the fourth try, he was rewarded with a light _snap_ as the plastic fell to the ground. "Huh." He picked up the remains of the zip tie and pocketed it. "SEAL school?"

"Training, yeah." Taking a sharp rock, Steve quickly snapped through the zip ties around Danny's feet.

Danny didn't miss his partner giving him the once-over with a critical eye. "I'm fine, Steven." He avoided rubbing a hand over his jaw, which was sore from Steve's had head-butt, and defiantly held back a cough in his aching chest. Turning away, he walked back to the place where he had been initially dumped from the car and studied the tire tracks in the snow that ran down the road and disappeared into the grey distance. "I guess town is that way."

"Where are we?" Steve asked, looking around for the first time. The grey, barren landscape was covered in a couple of inches of cold, white powder while more heavy flakes drifted lazily down from an overcast sky.

"You tell me," Danny shrugged. "But we're not in Kansas anymore, Toto."

"What?"

"Wizard of Oz? Dorothy?"

"Uh…"

Danny would have laughed at the confused expression on his partner's face if the situation hadn't been so serious. "We aren't in Hawaii anymore. And you need to get out more. Or at least watch more of the classics."

Steve ignored his jibe, taking in the rocky, white hills with an analytical eye. The terrain fell steeply away from them on three sides, only rising behind them toward a vague, grey summit in the distance. There were no trees or visible plants of any sort: just snow-covered rocks and an overcast, foggy, grey sky that occluded any view of the valley below.

Steve turned in a complete circle. "Actually, Danny, I think this _is_ Hawaii."

"What? Sorry, _what_? How hard did you hit your head? Because I could have sworn you just said we're in Hawaii."

"We are. I think."

"No. No, _this_ ," Danny threw his arms wide at the desolate snowscape, " _this_ is not Hawaii. Do you see any beaches? Palm trees? Sunshine? This is New Jersey, maybe. Or Michigan. Northern California. Idaho. In fact, I can think of 40 possible states where we could be right now, and Hawaii isn't one of them."

"Only 40?" Steve smirked.

"Florida and Louisiana don't count. Among others."

"Right." Steve turned around again before pointing away from the tire tracks. "North is that direction," he said.

"Brilliant deduction, Sherlock, but I fail to see how that helps us."

"There are 13 observatories at the summit, which is north of here. If we're lucky, one of them might be manned. Otherwise, we have a very long, very cold walk down the mountain."

"What mountain? Where are we?" The cold had settled into Danny's bones and he was beginning to feel rather annoyed.

Instead of replying, Steve bent down and brushed the snow off a lump until a very spiky but tired looking plant emerged. "See that? It's called silversword. It only grows on the mountains of Hawaii, in an alpine climate above the tree level. We're on Mauna Kea, on the Big Island. This is the road that leads to the summit, but it's probably closed due to the weather right now, which means we can't count on hitching a ride down. Our best bet is to try to make it to the observatories and hope someone is weathering out this storm there."

Danny looked around. "How far of a walk is it back to town?"

"6 hours. Maybe 7 or 8."

"Is it snowing there, too?"

"No. No, it's about the same climate as Kailua."

"Okay. Nice and beachy down there. So how far does this snow last? Maybe we walk a mile and it turns to rain."

Steve looked unsure. "I haven't actually been up here since I was a kid," he admitted. "And it was summer then. I know it can snow up here in the winter, but I don't know how far down the mountain it snows and," he paused to turn around again, "I don't know how close we are to the summit."

"So, in other words, we should pick a direction and get going?"

"Yeah." He stopped, concerned as Danny winced. "You sure you're good to be walking?"

"I'm standing, aren't I?"

"Yes, and you were tortured earlier and probably have a nasty bump on the back of your head. Let me see your pupils- it'll be a miracle if you don't have a concussion."

"Back off, Steve, I'm fine," Danny growled, swatting his partner's hand. He didn't miss the rapid blink as his partner took a step backwards. "What about you? I see that blinking. You've probably got a concussion, too."

"I'm fine," Steve muttered, turning away.

"Really? So you're not trying to fix some double vision thing and deal with a splitting headache over there?"

"I'm good. Let's go." Impatient and annoyed now that the attention was turned on him, Steve struck out along the road leading to the summit, leaving Danny behind.

Danny threw his hands. "Okay, I give up," he called out to Steve's retreating back. "Forgive me for trying to make sure my _partner_ is fine. Apparently you can care about me, but I'm _not allowed_ to worry about you. But if you keel over on the side of this god-forsaken road, I am _not_ carrying you up to the top!"

As he hurried to catch up, he missed the frown that crossed his partner's face and the quietly muttered statement: " _It's not me I'm worried about, Danno_."

….

Meanwhile, on Maui:

Chin pulled another heaping pile of Kalua pork onto his plate as the birthday celebrations stretched into the fourth hour. "You know," he mused between indulgent forkfuls, "we haven't heard from Steve or Danny since Monday."

Across from him, Kono was working on her third helping of lilikoi-flavored pudding. "You know what they say, cuz: no news is good news. I'm sure they're fine."

Chin nodded. "I suppose so," he said, reaching for another bite. Still… he couldn't shake the feeling that something bad had happened.

…

"Hey Steve? What time do you think it is?"

"I dunno…" Steve stopped to look around and used that moment to also risk a glance at Danny, who trailed a few steps behind him. "About 0700, 0730, I'd guess. Light, but early morning." He didn't like Danny's weary stance- they had only been walking for a few minutes- nor was he pleased with the detective's increasingly labored breathing. Steve could hear the deep, hoarse breaths even from several yards away and knew that their increased altitude would compound any difficulties Danny had developed after having water in his lungs. "Need a breather?"

" 'M fine," Danny managed, waving a hand. "Just a bit light headed. Probably the elevation."

Steve grunted noncommittally and watched his partner trod slowly pass him, his feet dragging slightly to leave two shallow tracks that would soon be filled in if the snow continued.

The snowfall hadn't let up but changed periodically between fat, white flakes and fine, tiny pricks, offering them an occasional glimpse of the telescopes stationed ahead on the summit. Steve wasn't sure if Danny had noticed- probably not, given that the detective's eyes were focused on the ground- but it looked to be at least another mile before they reached help. There were many things that concerned Steve about their predicament, but hypothermia was rapidly jumping up the list. Neither of them were wearing appropriate attire for hiking in cold weather, and why should they? They were in Hawaii. But the thin clothes and damp snow combined with the increasing wind could soon create a situation far more dangerous than armed Chinese mobsters.

Ahead of him, Danny stopped and wrapped his arms around his chest as another bout of coughing shook him achingly back and forth.

Steve placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and watched, knowing there was little he could do to help. "You sure you're okay, Danno?" he asked as the fit gradually subsided.

"Yeah… Just gotta keep moving." He struggled forward a few steps and flashed a grin at Steve. "Don't want to freeze to death."

"We're not going to freeze to death."

"Yeah? Okay, so tell me this: how long until we die of frostbite?"

"Frostbite?" Deciding to humor him if only as a distraction to keep Danny moving, Steve continued, "You can't die of frostbite, Danny." He slowed his pace to match that of his partner's. "Besides, I thought you liked the cold. What happened to that tough Jersey exterior?" and he punched Danny playfully on the shoulder.

"You know what? Wipe that smug smile off your face. I am doing perfectly fine, thank you, despite the fact that it is probably twenty below up here."

"Twenty-six. Twenty-six above, not below. We'll be fine."

"Twenty-six? Really? How'd you come up with that number? Or is there some classified, secret SEAL method for telling temperature that I can't know about?"

Steve masked a grin. "I'm just guessing, Danny, but I can tell you this: we're not going to die. I've trained for these kinds of things."

"You've trained for these kinds of things? Well, I've lived in this kind of environment and let me tell you, frostbite is a very real thing."

"I know that."

"And anyway," Danny continued, ignoring him, "What do you mean by, ' _I've trained for these kinds of things.'_? You've trained for getting waterboarded, conked on the head, and dropped in snow on the side of the road at 18,000 feet?"

"We're only at 13,000 feet, Danny."

"13,000, 18,000… same difference." Then he stopped and doubled over with another coughing fit. "See… if you'd tell me… your training secrets… I wouldn't have this problem," he wheezed out.

"If you would just shut up and focus on walking instead of talking, you wouldn't have that problem, either" Steve muttered, irked at the clearly-ill man's insistence on speaking. "Can you breathe?"

"Yeah, just…" Danny paused, wheezing as he sucked in air hoarsely. "Just the altitude. Just gimme a minute."

Steve grimaced at this untruth. "I've got news for you, Danny- that's not the altitude." He squinted through the haze of snow toward the summit and was pleased to find that he could now make out some details on five of the thirteen observatories that had come into view. "We're almost there. Think you can go another half-mile?"

"Don't really have a… a choice, do I?" As the coughing subsided, Danny shrugged off Steve's hand and pushed stubbornly onward, reaching out to catch himself as he stumbled.

Steve looked after him and shook his head. "I'm not carrying you, Danny!" he called.

"Won't have to, Steven."

…

"Sir? We've found them. They're on Hawai'i, the Big Island."

"Damn Chinese. Where on the island?"

"Unknown. We found a midnight flight out of Kalaeloa that could be them. It touched down in Kona at 0200."

"And you don't know where they went after that?"

"It's called the 'Big Island' for a reason, sir. But we'll find them."

"You'd better."

...

 **A/N: So who are these guys? And what do they want with Steve and Danny? Also, don't forget there's some poor, lost unicorn out there!**


	13. Chapter 13- Down the mountain

**A/N: I hope everyone is staying safe from Harvey this week! The weekend crept up on me; I haven't had a chance to reply to any reviews at all. Sorry! Thanks as always for reviews and hope you enjoy this week's installment.**

"You kn-n-n-ow what y-y-y-ou need to do?" Danny's teeth chattered uncontrollably as he hunched over a thermos of weak coffee and tried to absorb some warmth through the porcelain mug. A heavy, brown blanket was pulled over his bare shoulders and wrapped around his body, trailing to the floor like a lopsided cocoon, and the whole thing shook as heavy shivers wracked his body.

A British astronomer, Theodore Asquith, had responded to their frantic knocking and yelling at the doors of the UK Infrared Telescope about fifteen minutes ago. Due to the inclement weather, the normally busy 'park' of thirteen telescopes was nearly empty with Theodore present only for routine maintenance and testing. Annoyed at first and wary of his visitors, he had needed some prodding before allowing the pair admittance. When he saw the bruises on their wrists and the scuff on Steve's jaw, however, he had wavered, and when Danny suddenly burst into another coughing fit, he finally opened the door and ushered them inside.

Now, sitting in the little kitchenette below the telescope and wrapped in thick blankets, Danny tried to fight off another round of painful coughing as he continued: "Tri-i-i-athal-l-l-ons."

"Triathalons?" Steve was more concerned than amused as he watched his partner wrap his shaking hands around the mug and cradle it between his thighs, while simultaneously shrugging the heavy blanket further over his head. Using a towel, he wrapped up another hot water bottle and tucked it inside Danny's blanket, causing the shorter man to hiss. "You mean ike an Iron Man competition?"

"Y-y-y-yeah. I b-b-b-et you could d-d-d-o an Iron Man in no t-t-t-time flat. Bet you'd-d-d- even p-p-p-place in top t-t-t-ten."

Steve managed a small smile and downed the last of his coffee as he kept a careful eye on his partner. "But why would I want to? Sure I could go out right now and swim, bike, and run however far, and I might do well, but what's the point?"

"Uh, f-f-f-fame. Money. G-g-g-glory." Danny inhaled a shaky sip from his own mug and closed his eyes appreciatively as the hot liquid slid down his throat. "It's a race with a b-b-bunch of other macho dudes who s-s-s-seem to enjoy that kind of t-t-t-torture," he said, his stutter declining as the warmth finally began to sink in.

"But I already have all of that from the Navy, Danny. And I enjoy the exercise, sure, but there's no runner's high for me when I'm running or biking. It's just another PT workout. No adrenaline rush."

"Oh, r-r-r-right, because no one is shooting at you. I g-g-get it now." Face flushed as the heat settled into his system, Danny pulled the blanket down slightly so that his head emerged in a messy, blond mop from his cocoon. "M-m-m-maybe Ninja Warrior is more your speed?"

Steve grimaced and stood up to check on Danny's clothes, which had been hung up around the kitchen to dry. "Would you just leave it alone? I'm fine. Sure, I got a little bored last week-"

"A _little_ b-b-b-bored?!"

"-but now we have a case and it's all good." _Good_ might not be the best word to use considering their current circumstances, he reflected, but Danny didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah, you're fine until the next d-d-d-dry stretch," Danny muttered.

Steve was spared the opportunity of replying when Theodore returned with a slip of paper in hand. "That's the number for the Hilo police chief," he said, passing the paper to Steve. "And you'll have to use the phone on the wall- no cell towers around here."

Steve took the paper and dialed the number for Paul Namaka. The sleepy chief at Hilo didn't want to believe him at first, but when Steve threatened to call the governor, he finally agreed to send a vehicle to the top of the mountain to fetch them and bring them into town. A helicopter was out of the question due to the weather at the summit, but a Jeep, a detective, and a paramedic were dispatched from the town.

Nearly an hour later, the vehicle arrived. Danny grumblingly donned the not-quite-dry clothing from the night before ("No, I will _not_ go naked, Steven. Damp underwear won't kill me and that blanket does _not_ count as clothing.") and grudgingly allowed the paramedic to give him a once-over.

The detective driving the Jeep took their statements, but the tire tracks were already buried in fresh powder and, aside from the broken zip ties and some minor trace on Danny's clothing, there was no other evidence to be collected. After thanking Theodore for the coffee and assistance, both men piled into the vehicle and headed down the mountain.

Despite the gravel road and rough pavement, both Steve and Danny fell into an exhausted sleep and missed the sun rising over the snow-capped peak, not waking until they arrived at Hilo Medical Center at 10:05 am. Neither was happy at the prospect of being admitted for their own injuries, but a truce was reached when Steve agreed to have his cuts and bruises tended to if and only if Danny would follow the paramedic's advice and allow the doctors to listen to his chest and treat whatever complications had resulted from their adventures in the past 24 hours.

While the warmth of the observatory kitchenette had helped, Danny was still coughing and the sound had deepened and soured into a hoarse and painful croak. Steve was concerned that Danny had inhaled more water than he thought, and he knew from experience the damage that such conditions could cause on the lungs. Steve's own examination by the doctor was brief, leaving him with a couple of band aids and pacing impatiently in the waiting room while Danny was taken back for scans, blood work, and anything else deemed necessary.

…

"Are you Steven McGarrett?"

Steve's head jerked up.

"You've got a phone call, sir." The nurse gestured to the phone on the counter at the nurse's station.

"McGarrett," Steve said into the receiver.

"Steve, it's Paul Namaka. I contacted Sergeant Lukela, per your request, and he said he's happy to hear that you and Detective Williams are alive. They raided the warehouse where you were held and recovered your guns, wallets, phones, and badges, but Zhang Jian and his men are long gone."

Steve wasn't surprised.

"I know you're waiting to hear back from the doctors; just tell me when you know about Detective Williams and I'll take care of booking your flight back to Honolulu. Any trouble with insurance?"

"No sir, not at all." With their wallets missing, the paperwork had been tricky at first, but after Chief Namaka had confirmed Steve and Danny's identities, the hospital was able to obtain their records and things had proceeded much more smoothly. All Steve could hope for now was Danny to be released soon so that they could go home. "Any word on the flight that brought us over here?"

"Yes, and it's not good. My colleagues at Kona just called- they found the plane in an old hanger just outside town. The crew and pilot were murdered."

"So maybe Zhang Jian kills his men and tries to cover his tracks…"

"My first thought, too but they were tortured before they were killed. Somebody wanted something from them."

"Oh." Steve ran a hand through his hair and tried to sort out this new development. "Any indication who did it?"

"None. But I'm sending an officer to stay with you at the hospital, just in case."

Steve frowned. Having a babysitter was humiliating, but without his gun and badge, he was powerless and vulnerable and knew it was for the best. He kept his displeasure to himself.

"He'll also be bringing dry clothes for you and Detective Williams. I took the liberty of getting your sizes from Sergeant Lukela. I hope you don't mind."

"No, not at all." Dry, clean clothing was a pleasant surprise. "Thanks, Chief. Mahalo."

"No problem. Keep me posted."

After speaking with the Hilo police chief, Steve returned to his seat. It was another hour before Danny was finished with tests and the results were mixed. His lungs were mostly clear but, feeling that Danny was at risk for pneumonia and serious complications from the waterboarding followed by the hypothermic conditions in the snow, the doctor admitted Danny for antibiotics and observation for at least an 8-hour period. Danny reluctantly agreed (mostly because Steve threatened to do something worse to him if he checked out AMA) and was soon situated in a room on the third (and top) floor.

…

"Hey."

Danny mustered a brief, tight smile as his partner stepped into the hospital room. "Hi."

"No baseball games on?" Steve nodded to the TV, which was off.

"Don't know. Haven't looked."

"Ah." Steve closed the door and pulled a chair next to the bed but didn't sit down. Danny had raised the head and settled the pillow behind his back so that he was nearly sitting up. An IV containing a broad-spectrum antibiotic went to his right arm while his left carefully smoothed the blanket over his knees. A small cut on his lip was the only physical indication of what had happened with Jian.

"Mask?" Steve asked, gesturing to the item currently hanging near the bed.

"Only if I need…" Danny stopped as a wheezy cough interrupted him.

"If you need it? Like right now?" Steve finished for him.

Danny rubbed his chest with a pained grimace as the cough subsided. "I'm fine."

"Uh-huh." Steve watched Danny intently study the weave on the sheets for several minutes. The detective was abnormally quiet and refusing to make eye contact. The SEAL decided to wait him out.

After several awkward minutes, Danny finally began: "We uh…" Danny cleared his throat nervously. "We haven't really had a chance to talk yet."

 _About what?_ Steve wondered.

"I mean, that blizzard wasn't really the right place- we were trying to survive. And at the observatory, I just wanted to get warm. And you were unconscious on the plane and we both fell asleep in the car…" Danny twisted the blanket slowly between his fingers, his voice trailing away.

Steve nodded slowly. He had an idea where this was headed. "We survived, Danny. We made it, and you might be a little worse for wear, but we got out of there alive. We'll catch them. Duke's already working on it." He could give Danny the full details on the phone call later. "They've already found the men who flew us here," he added, but Danny shook his head.

"That's not it, Steven."

At the use of his full first name, Steve sat down. Danny sighed.

"I failed." Tracing the hem of the blanket with his finger, he continued, "I just… well… I'm not a SEAL." Danny suddenly looked at Steve, tried to smile, and failed miserably. "I just couldn't take it anymore." His voice broke off in a whisper. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry? For what?"

"For giving in. For breaking."

Reaching across the bed, Steve took his friend's good hand and squeezed it firmly. "Danny, you were tortured. You were tortured with a method used to extract information from terrorists. You have nothing to apologize for."

But Danny pressed his lips together and turned his damp eyes toward the wall.

"Danny? Danny, look at me, buddy."

Danny remained quiet.

"I don't blame you. It's not your fault. And," Steve was grasping for assurances, "for what it's worth, you did the right thing when the time came. They bought my lie about not remembering anything when I was drugged- you convinced them of that- and you didn't give them any information that was vital."

"But I tried." Danny sniffed, his face still determinedly turned away. "I was so desperate, Steve, I would've told them anything just to make it stop. You must…" He sniffled again, "you must be so ashamed of me."

"Ashamed?" Steve was aghast. "Danny, how could I ever be ashamed of you? You didn't do anything to make me ashamed." Placing a hand on his partner's good arm, he squeezed gently. "I'm _proud_ of you, Danny. You survived."

"I broke."

"Not completely."

"But enough." With a quiet sob, Danny rolled over completely, pulling his arm free of Steve's grasp. Shoulders shaking in silent misery, he pushed his face into the pillow as tears rushed down. " _Idnurbk_."

"What?"

"I…" _Sniff._ "I didn't have your back."

"You had my back, Danny. You've always had my back and I trust you. Completely."

"You shouldn't."

…

 **A/N: I left swimming ten years ago but returned to the water recently after discovering Hawaii Five-0, and I fell in love all over again. I do open-water, long-distance swimming, which is probably why I really like Steve's character. I'm headed out for a couple of miles now to help deal with today's stress. How about you guys? Any ways that H50 has helped you?**


	14. Chapter 14- A little Peace and Quiet

**A/N: Not much to say. Busy week, mostly in a good way. But: I get tired of making decisions. After a day of making countless split-second decisions for other people, I'd rather somebody else decide what's for dinner in the evening. I don't want to decide.**

 **Also: I took my best guess with the medical stuff. Not really my area. Sorry for any mistakes.**

 **A/N: Warning: some strong language. Figured that's built into the T rating, but just in case…**

 _"I trust you, Danny. Completely."_

 _"You shouldn't."_

Steve didn't know what to say to this as his partner rolled over and faced away from him. A thousand retorts crossed his mind and just as quickly evaporated. "Danny…"

But Danny cut him off. "I'm tired, Steven. I need to rest."

"Bull." Picking up his chair, Steve moved around the bed until he was once more facing his partner. "We're not leaving off there. You said you wanted to talk. So talk."

"I changed my mind." A painful round of coughing suddenly shook the detective violently and he clenched his eyes shut and curled up on his side as his body rode out the fit. As it finally began to subside, he thrust out a hand and gestured to Steve. "Mask," he whispered breathlessly.

Steve lifted the plastic device hanging on a hook near the bed. "I thought you hated this thing," he commented as he pushed it into Danny's trembling hand.

"Still do." Holding it over his mouth, the detective grimaced as the two short words fogged the mask. "Not supposed to… be talking… anyway."

"Uh huh." Steve was more interested in the device over his partner's mouth. "You sure you aren't supposed to be wearing that thing consistently?" he now asked as he took a closer look at the mask.

"Hate it."

"So that's your excuse? The doc isn't going to be too pleased with that, Danny. If you want to get out of here…"

"I know. Just… shut up," Danny puffed laboriously. "Please."

"You gotta finish this conversation sometime, buddy." But watching his partner's anxious, wheezy breathing, Steve knew that now was not the time. Regardless of how much _he_ wanted to finish the conversation, it was evident that Danny's body simply wasn't up to the task at the moment.

 _Damn cough. Damn water. Damn snow._ Steve sighed inwardly and reached forward to grab the mask as the detective jerked it aside and launched into another fit of coughing. "Breathe, Danny," he encouraged. "Just breathe." Holding the mask as his partner curled in on himself, he rubbed a gentle circle on Danny's back and waited for the hacking to subside.

When if finally did, Danny lay quietly in the bed, eyes closed and unusually still.

"You okay?"

Danny nodded once. His heart was still racing from exertion, but his body felt zapped of any energy. All he could think about was inhaling, exhaling, and ignoring the deep ache in his chest and the tickle in his throat.

"Need anything?"

A curt shake of the head.

Steve pressed his lips together grimly and waited.

Danny's eyes remained determinedly closed, but not tight enough to keep a few tears from trickling out and slipping down his cheek to the pillow. The hand clutching the blanket tightened convulsively around the white cloth, and he pulled it protectively over his shoulder until only his face was visible.

" _Need sleep_ ," he finally whispered.

"Okay buddy. Whatever you need. An hour sound good?"

Eyes still closed, Danny nodded mutely.

"Okay. One hour." Steve reached over and flicked out the lights. "I'll be here."

…

In the end, Steve let him sleep for nearly two hours. Stepping into the hallway, he spoke to one of the nurses and was finally able to place a much-needed call to Duke from a borrowed cell phone. Following his update, he debated calling Chin and Kono, but finally decided that the cousins didn't need to have their family celebrations ruined with bad news. Steve could fill them in when they returned.

Back in the room, he settled into the chair and flipped through several 'borrowed' magazines and a local paper from the lobby. He devoured the few articles of interest (a remote hiking trail on Maui was the highlight) and skimmed a few commentaries on local issues before giving up and switching on the TV. Small and underfunded already, the hospital hadn't invested much in a cable package, and Steve finally found himself watching baseball reruns from last year's season on a commercial-heavy local channel.

"You must be bored."

Startled, Steve nearly dropped the remote as Danny's sleepy voice emerged from the bed. "Hey, you're awake."

"Yeah." Danny blinked sleepily and then pushed himself up with a small grunt. "How long was I out?" he asked in a rough voice.

"About two hours. Figured you could use it."

"Mmm."

Steve hid a grin as Danny tried to brush his untidy blond hair back into place. "You realize no one else cares if your hair is messy?"

Danny tried to frown but ended up yawning instead. "I care." But after several minutes of fruitless efforts to pull it under control, he gave up, leaned back and closed his eyes again.

"Hey." Steve tapped his leg. "No falling asleep. You just did that."

"Not sleeping," Danny mumbled. Pushing back a cough, he reached for a glass of water, only for his hand to become entangled in his IV line. Growling, he strained to untangle his hand while fighting the ache in his chest. "Stupid thing."

"No. Not stupid. You need that." Snagging his wrist, Steve deftly unwound the line, then poured and handed him a cup of water. "How's the lungs?"

"Feels like a herd of elephants trampled them." Danny cast a glance at the IV pole and noted the new bag hanging there. "More meds?"

"Doc is worried about infection. He'll be by later- wants to listen to your chest."

"Mmm." Danny closed his eyes again. "How long?"

"How long what?"

"Till we get out of here." Noting the absence of a bracelet on Steve's wrist, he added, "I see you've been checked out already."

"Yup. Nothing wrong here."

"So how long?"

"Depends. If there's no sign of infection and your cough improves, we can take the last flight out of Hilo at 11. Chief Namaka already booked us tickets."

"And otherwise?"

"Otherwise, you'll be here for a while, buddy."

"Maybe I'll pull a McGarrett and run away," Danny chuckled.

Steve didn't laugh; it didn't seem funny.

Danny sighed and sobered. "Listen, about earlier… I uh…" He sighed and smoothed a hand over his hair. "My head wasn't in a good place. And the '86 Mets lineup wasn't helping. But, ah… I'm feeling better now. I was just really… tired. But now I'm fine."

"Physically fine and mentally fine are two different things, D."

Danny snorted. "You think I don't know that? I work with you, you big oaf."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, physically you're a perfect specimen, but mentally," Danny patted his chest impatiently as he tried to forestall another cough, "mentally, you're a great example of what belongs in a psyche ward. I just need some rest and clear lungs. Gimme a few days and I'll be good to go."

"I'm being serious, Danny. I've seen this before."

"Yeah, yeah, Mr. _I've-seen-it-all-before_ , Commander McPerfect, Navy SEAL." Danny waved his hand dismissively as a red flush crept up his face and Steve sensed a dark anger ripple through his friend. "I don't need you psychoanalyzing me. And don't patronize me, either. I'm fine."

"Danny, you're not-"

"I'm fine, Steve," Danny interrupted. "Physically, I may need a day or two, but I'm fine. Quit worrying about me."

"It's my job to worry about you, Danny. Both as your boss and as your friend."

"Boss, huh. You're going with that? Not partners?"

"Danny…"

"No, you know what? Maybe you should just fly back to Oahu and finish the whole damn case by yourself," Danny said fiercely. No longer merely irritated, he was angry and Steve shrank back slightly as Danny continued: "You seem to do just fine on your own; you don't need me. I hold you back. You don't break, you don't need sleep, you always have a plan and know exactly what to do. You need a partner who can keep up with you. Someone who won't weigh you down. Who won't keep you…"

A sudden fresh wave of coughing and hacking interrupted whatever Danny had been about to say. Doubled over, he clutched his chest as coughs wracked him back and forth. Grateful the conversation had been interrupted, Steve reached forward and snagged the discarded mask that Danny had pushed aside earlier and now pressed it into his partner's hands.

"Breathe, Danny. Just breathe."

Gasping, Danny pulled the mask over his face and wheezed for several minutes as he tried to catch his breath. Then, sweaty and exhausted, he finally relaxed against the pillows and closed his eyes.

"This sucks." Clutching the mask in one hand, Danny wiped the other hand across his face. "This really fucking sucks."

Steve had nothing to say except to nod in agreement.

"I can't… can't even… properly talk… " Danny opened his eyes and eyed Steve guardedly. "Bet that makes you happy."

"You being here, in the hospital, does _not_ make me happy."

"But if I quit talking, then you'd be-"

"-then I'd be happy because you'd be resting and giving your body a chance to get better. I need you better, Danny. I need you to get well."

Danny shrugged dejectedly. "Why?"

"Why? Why? Danny, you're my back-up!" Waving his hands in close mimicry of his partner, Steve continued, "Who's supposed to back me up in the field now? Chin and Kono aren't here. Neither is Grover. You want me to take Jerry the next time there's a shootout?"

Danny couldn't help the small snort that escaped at the thought of Jerry with a gun.

"I need my partner, man. And that means you. And you," Steve continued, noting (and ignoring) the dampness in Danny's eyes, "you need to do whatever it takes to get better. Whatever you need to do to back me up."

"So… therapy? A shrink?" Danny tried cautiously.

"If you need it, if that's what it takes, yeah."

"And if I don't?"

"Well, as your boss, it's my responsibility to sign off on your field duty paperwork, and if you aren't fit for duty, then…"

"Ah." Danny huffed in frustration. "Okay, for your information, _this_ does not impact my ability to shoot or to chase bad guys. Once the doc clears me, I should be good to go." But he couldn't quite hold Steve's piercing gaze. Shying away, he twisted the blanket through his hands, his eyes focused on the bed. "Just, uh… no cases around water for a while. Okay?"

"Danny, we're on an island. We're surrounded by water."

Danny shrugged weakly and looked miserable as he once more closed his eyes and carefully pulled the blanket up to his chin. Feigning sleep, he lay there for several minutes, ignoring his partner as he struggled to pull his thoughts and emotions under control. "Freakin…"

"What?" Steve hadn't quite caught the mumbled words.

"Me. Like a freaking hormonal woman- all over the place. Like Rachel at her 'time' of the month- oh man."

"Don't let Kono catch you saying that."

Danny snorted. "Or Rahcel." He wiped his eyes again. "But it's annoying- can't seem to help it."

"That's trauma, Danny. And it's natural. Nothing wrong with crying."

"It sucks."

Steve sighed. Pulling his chair close to the bed, he brushed a hand wearily over his face as his partner

"Look, I've seen men break, Danny… completely. Men that I've served with, tough, bad-ass guys, and they sold out their teammates just to make it- the torture- stop. My men… men I was responsible for…" Steve stopped. Everything about _that_ mission was still classified. "You did everything you could do. I don't fault you for anything that happened. In that situation, it could happen to anyone."

Danny said nothing. Eyes tightly closed, he clutched the white blanket against his chest like a lifeline, his shoulders shaking with silent tears.

"And I'm sorry, Danny."

"What're you sorry for?" Danny mumbled. "You didn't tell them anything."

"Like I said, it should've been me on the bench."

"So I could watch you being tortured? I've got news for you, Steven: that wouldn't have fixed anything."

Steve opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted as the doctor suddenly entered.

"So… Mr. Williams." Not realizing what he was interrupting, he scooped up Danny's chart and scanned it quickly. Steve cast an exasperated look at Danny, but the other man's eyes were tightly closed as he tried to hide his red, watery eyes.

Having already been made aware of their situation, the doctor didn't bother asking Steve to leave as he approached the bed and flashed a quick smile at his patient. "How are you feeling?"

"Uh…" Danny brushed a hand quickly over his face and tried to discreetly dry his damp cheeks as he blinked cautiously up at the doctor. "Okay, I guess."

"How's the chest?" the man asked as he helped Danny to sit up.

"Okay." Ears reddening, Danny shuffled the covers aside in anticipation of the doctor listening to his lungs. A moment later, the icy stethoscope slid under his hospital gown.

"Deep breath please."

Danny sucked in as much as he could. There was a pause, then the cold instrument moved across to the other side.

"And again."

He inhaled again, this time coughing briefly. The doctor listened for a moment, _hmm_ ed, and made a note in his chart. Then he had Danny blow into something, and clipped something else on his finger, and asked him quite a lot of uncomfortable questions that Danny really didn't want to think about. _How much water had he inhaled? How much had he swallowed? Did the water have a particular taste or smell? Did he become unconscious while holding his breath? How long did the incident last?_

 _Incident._ As Danny answered the doctor's questions to the best of his ability, he barely had time to reflect on the man's choice of words. Being waterboarded and nearly dying was no mere incident; why not call it what it was? Torture. Danny was tortured. And beating around the bush about it wasn't helping matters any.

Danny pushed down the resurgence of anger and tried to focus as the doctor asked him about any perceived pressure in his chest and pain around his heart. No, it didn't hurt, except when he coughed. Yes, he was still having difficulty controlling his coughing. Yes, the mask seemed to help.

He was surprised at how angry he was over the whole thing. Sure, the whole situation was bad. Yes, it had been intense and stressful. But, as Steve pointed out earlier, he hadn't died. Hadn't even come close, according to the doctor, although it certainly felt like it. So why was he so angry?

Frowning, he suddenly realized he had missed the doctor's last statement. "Sorry, what?" he said quickly, shaking the other thoughts away.

"I said, I'm writing you a prescription for this," the doctor said, holding up a green pill, "and I'm sending you home with an inhaler. It should help you breathe easier, especially with those coughing fits. But, barring infection, I'm expecting the cough to clear up in a few days." "Is infection normally an issue?" Steve asked.

"Normally in near-drowning cases, the victim has ocean or pond water in their lungs, both quite dirty, so infection is expected. However, in Mr. William's case," the doctor nodded appreciatively toward Danny, "the water seems to have been relatively clean and he appears to have inhaled a minimal amount."

"So when can I go home?"

Another flash of a smile appeared as the doctor closed the chart and deposited it in the tray at the foot of the bed. "At this rate, tonight. Possibly in time to make the last flight back to Oahu. Your cultures were inconclusive so I'd like to know more before I release you."

Steve exchanged a look with Danny. "Any chance we can make that flight a guarantee?"

"Well…" Slipping the chart out of its slot again, the doctor rubbed his chin as he studied Danny's information. "I can't guarantee anything, you understand," he said, and Steve and Danny both nodded. "As I said, the cultures we took earlier are inconclusive, so I'm keeping you here for at least another four hours. Pneumonia is still a possibility, and I want to see that cough disappear. That being said, I would be surprised if Mr. Williams _didn't_ make the 11pm flight back to Oahu. Possibly even the 10 p.m. if things continue to improve. But _if_ you go home tonight, I cannot stress enough that you go immediately to Queen's or Tripler tomorrow morning before engaging in work of any kind, even light desk duty." He gave them both very serious looks. "Understood?"

"Yes sir," Steve said, nodding vigorously to back up Danny's barely-audible _yeah_.

"There's a note in your file, Mr. Williams, from the doctors at Queen's. Seems the two of you don't always follow orders, so I'll just say this: lungs aren't like broken bones. The bone will eventually heal, regardless. The lungs need rest. Don't provide that rest, and you risk some serious complications that could be permanent. Do I make myself clear?" His eyes rested on Steve.

"He'll go to the doctor first thing tomorrow, sir."

"Good. And certainly before he returns to work."

"Understood."

...

 _"Well?"_

 _"They have a flight out of Hilo at 11."_

 _"And?"_

 _"I'm not expecting anything. But I'll have a man on that flight. Just in case."_

…

Luck was with them ("for the first time ever," Danny muttered in an aside to Steve as he scrawled his signature across the discharge paperwork), and after another long nap, supper, and one last battery of tests, Danny was finally released around 9:30 p.m. The officer guarding their room drove both men to the airport where the Chief Namaka was waiting with their wallets, cell phones, and a late supper (since the hospital 'supper' had been rather unsubstantial). "I had Sergeant Lukela send your things over this afternoon," he explained as he walked with them through security and down the open-air terminal. "Figured you'd need them for your flight back. He said he'll have a car for you when you arrive."

They settled onto a long bench near the gate and opened up their sandwiches. For a moment, Danny sat stiffly, taking in the sights and smells of this new location as he tried to sort out any dangers. Nearby, a group of construction workers in bright vests prepared for their daily commute back to Oahu. Not far away, a young couple clearly returned from a romantic weekend occupied the two chairs nearest the gate. Scattered around the gate area were a few straggling tourists in the remaining chairs, and backpackers sitting on the floor along the walls. A warm breeze off the ocean blew through the open space, bringing with it a familiar, salty smell that reminded Danny strongly of Steve's backyard. Steve, for his part, was already halfway through his meal and the police chief was making small talk with him about the latest eruptions at Kilauea. Sensing no danger, Danny finally relaxed enough to sit back and take a bite of his sandwich.

"What about the plane and crew that brought us here?" he asked in a low voice between bites. "Any updates on that?"

"No, unfortunately," Namaka frowned. "Whoever did it made a mess but was _very_ thorough in the clean-up. No prints or anything useful so far, but the techs are still sorting through the evidence." The chief shrugged unhappily. "It'll take time."

"And the hospital staff…?"

"Have been warned not to talk about the incident. Aside from your doctor and one nurse whom we've worked with before, no one else knows… I hope." Again he shrugged. "It's a small town. Word gets around. But I think any danger you'll face will be waiting for you in Oahu, not here on Hawai'i."

"That's what I'm afraid of…" Danny muttered.

…

The two boarded the final flight out of Hilo at 11p.m. As Chief Namaka had predicted, it was a quiet flight back to the island and an equally-quiet ride to Steve's house where he insisted that Danny spend the night. By early Friday morning, both men were finally in bed, fast asleep.

 **A/N: The Hawaiian airports are definitely the most beautiful and interesting airports I've been through. Open-air gardens in Honolulu and the almost entirely open-air airport of Hilo (the TSA section has some reluctant walls and windows) make for a very pleasant experience. And who doesn't love to pick up their baggage in a garden? So cool and so strange, compared to what I'm used to. So what's your favorite/weirdest airport?**


	15. Chapter 15- Friday morning

**A/N: Thanks for reviews and follows! This is my longest story, so I'm glad to see that people are still following and enjoying it! Sorry I couldn't respond to people this week. Hopefully can do better next week.**

It was soft muttering that first reached Danny in the depths of his sleep, a vague drone that interrupted his pleasant and much-needed slumber. He followed it, unwillingly, through layers of dreams and visions that were forgotten the moment he left them behind, leaving him just on the verge of wakefulness.

"Hey."

Something- no, _someone_ \- nudged his foot.

"You awake?"

Danny groaned.

"Come on, sleeping beauty. Rise and shine. We've got a lead."

Danny cracked an eye open and glared at the blurry image of his partner towering over him. He was sprawled across the bed in Steve's guest room, his head resting on his arm as the pillow had somehow been knocked to the floor. An ocean breeze poured through the open window and he suddenly identified the droning noise that had interrupted his sleep- waves.

 _He probably opened the window on purpose_ , Danny grumbled to himself. _Nature's alarm clock- oh boy._ Danny groaned again and rolled over. "What time is it?"

"A little after 9. You slept a solid 8 hours, buddy." Steve, his hair still wet from either a swim or a shower, was already dressed and apparently ready to go. He set something on the end table near Danny's head. "Here. Got your meds and some water. You can eat in the car."

Danny pushed himself up and blinked blearily around the room. "How do we have a lead? We haven't been in the office for nearly two days."

"Jerry. He called just a few minutes ago, says he has something for us." Steve grabbed the clothes Danny had tossed aside last night and chucked them at the detective. "He wouldn't tell me over the phone, so get your six in gear and let's go."

"Steven?" Danny fixed his partner with a hard look. "What happened to the doctor's orders? Bed rest and no work until we visit Queen's?"

"You're not doing any work, Danny! I'm driving, I'm following up on the lead, and I'll even do all the talking if you want."

"I have a bad feeling about this," Danny groaned but threw aside the blanket and stood wearily from the couch. With nothing else to wear (Steve's clothes certainly wouldn't fit), he pulled on the borrowed shirt and pants that the Hilo captain had generously loaned him yesterday and made a mental note to send the man a very nice thank-you note and reimbursement check.

Dressing took longer than normal, in part because his head still hurt, his chest still ached, and his throat was still a bit sore. Overall, though, he felt much better than at any point yesterday. Catching Steve's concerned look as he winced, Danny forced a brief smile. No point in worrying the man more than necessary. Danny was looking forward to spending a night in his own bed, but knew it wouldn't happen if Steve wasn't satisfied with his recovery. As it was, he had until early afternoon before his appointment to see the doctor at Queen's and hopefully be cleared for field duty… unless the case (or, more likely, Steve) got in the way.

Combing his hair down with his fingers, he dutifully downed his medication, took the proffered banana and toast, and followed Steve out the door.

…

"Underwater rugby."

"What?" Steve risked a glance over at his partner in the passenger seat. One banana, dry toast, a (decaf) coffee, and two hot malasadas later, Danny had finally perked up and become his usual chatty self. Steve was torn between feeling relieved and annoyed. Thankfully, the office was only a few minutes away.

"Underwater rugby. Your new sport."

"My new sport? Danny, we had this discussion last night. I don't need a new sport."

"You haven't seen this one, babe." Whipping out his phone, Danny pulled up a You Tube clip and thrust the small device in Steve's line of sight. "It looks like an Atlantis mating ritual, but this is _perfect_ for you. It's like the sport was made for ex- Navy SEALs."

"Uh…" Distracted, Steve caught a few seconds of the writhing swimmers wrestling over a ball underwater before he returned his eyes to the road. "What brought this on?"

"You. The other day. Went swimming with that suspect in the water, down by the docks. You've been… agreeable… since then. Like it calmed you down." Danny waved one hand as the other protectively held his precious coffee. "You've had some kind of cabin fever -or whatever your species gets when you can't chase and shoot things- and then- _bam_!- you're nice and… and _pleasant_. As your partner, I want you to be this happy all the time, so I did some research and I found it." Danny took a deep breath and spread his hands dramatically. "Underwater rugby." He grinned and took a sip of coffee. "What do you think?"

"I think it's… interesting." Steve actually thought that he could beat both teams with his hands bound behind his back. "But Danny, I don't need a sport. Like I said, we've had that discussion."

"Babe, it's perfect for you. You'd probably excel at it."

Steve smirked. _Yes, I probably would_. "Danny, Jerry is waiting for us. He's back in town and got us a lead, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah… You mentioned that already. But I'm off-duty, remember?"

Steve grinned. "Don't worry- one hospital visit coming up, right after lunch," he promised.

…

At the office, Jerry leaned on the smart table, flipping between a myriad of windows and images on the large screen. Wholly engrossed, he didn't notice the arrival of Steve or Danny as they pushed through the glass doors and approached the table.

"Morning Jerry," Steve greeted. "What have you got for us?"

"You are _not_ going to believe this!" Jerry said wide-eyed, practically quivering with excitement.

"Uh, okay." Steve exchanged a look with Danny as they took up positions on either side of the conspiracy theorist. "Not going to believe what? What am I looking at?"

"Recognize this face?" Jerry pulled up a DMV photo of a young man, early 30's, with dark, curly hair and green eyes.

"No."

"Yes."

Steve turned to Danny in surprise.

Danny shrugged. "He's that curly-haired putz from the café the other day. Pushed right past our table, didn't stop to say 'excuse me' or anything like that."

"You remember that?!"

"What? He was rude. I remember offensive people."

Rolling his eyes, Steve turned his attention back to Jerry. "What did he do?"

" _He_ doesn't exist."

"What do you mean? That's his driver's license, isn't it? Is it fake?"

"Oh yes. I mean no, it's a real DMV photo, but everything about the guy is fake- name, SSN, age… In a way, it's a very clever forgery."

"How clever are we talking?" Danny wanted to know. "And how'd you find this guy? I only saw him that one time."

"You may have only seen him once, but he's seen you plenty." Pulling up several stills taken from security cameras across Honolulu, Jerry pointed out the same face in multiple frames. "I actually started with footage from the night that Steve was drugged, but I didn't get anything since that footage has been edited."

"Hang on," Steve threw out a hand, "what do you mean, 'edited'?"

"It's basically just a fifteen minute loop that repeats all night until about 3am. So you're watching the same 15 minutes of nothingness the whole time. And there's no way to figure out who messed with it- they cleaned up after themselves pretty well."

Steve frowned and caught Danny's eye. Danny shrugged. _Your guess is as good as mine._

"Anyway," Jerry continued, "so then I decided to follow you guys around during the week and see if anything stood out. I started seeing the same car over and over and that's when I spotted this dude- Aaron Hernandez."

"So who is he?"

"On paper, he's a master's student at the university. He's also got some speeding tickets from HPD and two old drug charges from his 'hometown' back in Texas. Thing is, those charges are fake."

"Hold on," Danny interrupted, "If you're making a fake ID for yourself, why give yourself fake charges? Doesn't that kind of defeat the point?"

"Depends on who's looking at it." Steve pulled up the fake charges and studied the documents on the screen. "If you're trying to get in with the wrong crowd, a clean record is not what you want. This is perfect- just enough to make him look bad, but not enough to raise suspicion if he gets pulled over for a minor traffic violation." He flipped through the other information Jerry had uncovered. "It's probably a fake name, fake SSN, fake record, fake background, but a real local address. This is a cover, Danny, and it's a good one. It's been designed to withstand some pretty serious scrutiny."

"Okay." Danny scratched his jaw and tried to wrap his head around the new information. "So who is this 'Mr. Hernandez' and what does he actually want?"

Jerry shrugged. 'No idea. I figured you guys might know that after your little adventure on Wednesday."

"Really? How could we know that?"

"Oh, because he was there." A few more taps and a grainy video appeared on screen showing Danny and Steve being taken from the animal control truck Wednesday evening. Jerry paused it and pointed to a car sitting discreetly in a lot nearby. "That's his car. He may not have been involved in the action, but he was there, watching it all."

"You know…" Shaking his finger at the screen, Steve turned to Danny. "This would explain how they found us in the first place. How they knew our route. He's been watching us all week."

Danny looked around the office nervously. "Could he be listening in right now?"

"No," Steve shook his head. "I checked the office for bugs on Tuesday. It's clear. But that would explain how they were able to pin us down in that side street and capture us Wednesday evening. He must have passed them some sort of information."

"Makes sense, but why?" Danny asked.

"Let's ask him," Steve said, already heading for his office. "Jerry, do you have a real phone number on our suspect?"

"Sure do."

"Is it active? Where is he now?" Steve pulled his tac vest from a cabinet and tossed the gun cabinet keys to Danny while Jerry ran a trace.

Danny stood in the center of the room with the keys to the gun cabinet in his hand as his partner hurried to his office and began pulling on a tac vest and loading up his pockets with 'essentials.'

"Uh… Steve?"

Steve didn't hear him. Pulling the Velcro tight, he clipped a few flash-bangs to his belt and checked his backup weapon.

"Steven!" Danny waved his hand in front of his partner's face to get his attention. "Desk duty. Resting. Me. Remember?"

"Oh." The hospital visit had already slipped his mind. "Right. It's okay, D. I'll just call Duke and have him loan me someone." But as he hesitated, Jerry suddenly called them over.

"Uh… guys?" Jerry pointed to a flashing light appeared on the screen. "According to this… he's right outside."

"What?!" Desk duty and hospital clearances forgotten, Danny grabbed his own vest and yanked it over his head as Steve snagged a rifle from the gun rack and stuffed extra rounds in his pocket. Together, the partners ran down the stairs, leaving a somewhat-flustered Jerry behind.

"Okay." Jerry looked around the suddenly-empty office. "I'll just stay up here. Inside. Where it's safe. Yeah…"

…

But 'Aaron Hernandez' wasn't right outside for long. With a squeal of tires, he pulled out of the parking lot as soon as Steve and Danny ran out the front doors of the building. By the time they reached Danny's car and jumped inside, he was gone.

"Jerry?" Steve called over the phone. "He's running; we need a location!"

"Okay. Uh…." In the background, Jerry could be heard manipulating something on the computer. "His phone is still active. He's headed north on Bishop Street. Looks like he's headed for the Pali Highway."

"On it." Swinging toward Pali Highway, Steve sped up and tried to close the distance. But with a windsurfing competition scheduled that afternoon at Kailua, everyone else was apparently heading same direction. After several frustrating minutes of weaving in and out of traffic, he turned to Danny. "See anything?"

"Not yet."

"Hey Steve?" Jerry's voice came over the speakers. "Thought you might want to know- he ditched the phone. The signal just stopped about a thousand feet in front of you."

Steve cursed under his breath and scanned the traffic ahead.

"Got it!" Danny called suddenly. "Five cars forward, right hand lane."

Both cars were on the Pali now, and as Steve sped up, the other car lurched forward as well, speeding into traffic and flying through the last red light above Manoa Valley. The Camaro followed close behind, climbing up the mountain, then into the dark tunnels that cut through the volcanic ridge. A moment later, they emerged to the perpetual mist and the rain that clung to the top of the ridge. Danny squinted ahead.

"Lost him," he muttered under his breath as he scanned the cars crowding the narrow highway.

They entered the second tunnel and, a moment later, broke into the bright sunshine overlooking Kailua Bay.

Danny looked again. "Found him. Four cars ahead, left lane." As the highway dropped toward Lanikai and Kaneohe, Danny noticed no real progress had been made toward closing the gap between them and 'Hernandez.'

"Dang," he commented as Steve swerved around a truck that refused to yield to his flashing lights, "I think this Hernandez guy is almost a better driver than you are." He winced as they passed another car on the shoulder, placing them close- _a little too close_ \- to the guardrail. "And by _better_ , I mean crazy fast. I'm not saying either one of you is a _good_ driver. Just that you've got skills and he's got skills."

"Skills that he shouldn't have."

"What do you mean? And watch out for the-"

"Yeah, I see it." Jerking the wheel impatiently, Steve sped around a motorcyclist that had popped out from in front of a minivan. "The techniques he's using, Danny. They're the same ones I was taught."

"So?"

"So. It's like hand-to-hand combat: each country and branch of the military has their own style that they teach. If you're good, you can identify a foreign soldier's country of training just based on his fighting style. Driving is the same way."

"Okay, so you're saying this guy trained at the same Secret SEAL Spy School as you?" Danny gripped the door handle as Steve opted to turn the shoulder into an extra lane. "Hey! Stay on the road! _On the road_!"

"This _is_ the road, Danny!" but Steve pulled obediently back over the white line as the Pali Highway dropped further toward the coast. "BUDs isn't a 'secret' SEAL school, Danny. And I'm just saying that something doesn't add up."

They flew past a few neighborhoods, struggling to keep up as the small, dark car in front of them turned right suddenly at the Castle Medical Center. With a squeal of tires, Steve followed, narrowly avoiding the curb as they rounded the corner on two wheels.

"Where the hell does he think he's going?" Steve growled. "This doesn't go anywhere. It dead-ends." They turned again, this time into a neighborhood in Lanikai and Steve slowed for a group of kids playing basketball who scurried out of their path. A moment later, the car in front of them pulled over suddenly to the side of the road and a figure leaped out, jumped the chain link fence, and went scurrying up the grass hill.

"Um, Steve?" Danny eyed the sign affixed to the fence in concern. "That sign says, "US Government, No Trespassing."

"Good thing I'm a government employee." Steve didn't bother to wait for the car to come to a complete stop as he threw on the handbrake and leaped out the door after the man.

Danny shook his head. "One day, Steven. One day…"

…

Steve sprinted up the hill, leaving his gun holstered so he could use his hands to grab and pull at the steep terrain. He had opted to leave the larger rifle in the car, a smart decision, he evaluated as he slipped and scrambled on loose rock toward the top.

Cresting the hill, he was surprised to find the hill hollowed out into a shallow, grassy bowl with two low, round, metallic structures sitting near the center. Aaron Hernandez was nowhere in sight. Steve slipped down into the grass and waited, hoping that the light coastal breeze would shift the grass and reveal his suspect. When no one appeared, he drew his gun and crept cautiously forward.

"Danny?" he hissed after a moment into his radio.

No response.

"Danny! Come in."

Still nothing.

It was possible, of course, that the hill was blocking his signal, but it didn't sit quite right with Steve. Moving discreetly forward, he stayed hidden in the long grass as he approached the strange structures. As he circled around from the right, he was surprised to find that one of the structures contained a small door. Leaving his hiding place, he darted across the open space to the door and quickly tried the handle.

Locked.

Huffing in frustration, he tried again and failed to notice another figure emerge from the grass behind him. Before he could turn around, a gun was planted firmly against his head.

"Don't move."

…

"Well, that could have gone better."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Can't change the past. Let's just focus on fixing it."

"What do you want me to do?"

"You? Nothing. I'm going to handle this next bit."

 **A/N: Okay grammar geeks: Oxford comma- do you use it or not? And why (or why not?)**


	16. Chapter 16- Friday at noon

**A/N:** **Early posting this week! I'm supposed to kayak pilot for a race this weekend, and I don't know how long that plus the rest of my to-do list will take. Sorry this is shorter… if things go well, I might be able to post the next chapter sooner rather than later!**

 **A/N: mild language warning**

Danny refused to follow Steve over the fence- after all, someone had to stay with the car and, after his little 'adventure' Wednesday, Danny wasn't cleared for field duty. In fact, he really shouldn't be out at all, having not yet had his requisite follow-up visit to the doctor, so he was especially keen to avoid any more trouble. Taking advantage of his absent partner, he plopped down in the driver's seat, turned the radio to _his_ favorite station, and cranked up the AC to drive away the late morning's humidity.

For the first few minutes, he could hear Steve panting heavily into the mic as he ran up the grassy slope, and then the soft, slight sounds of movement as his partner slipped in SEAL stealth mode. But then, suddenly, the heavy breathing stopped and was replaced by silence.

"Steve?"

Nothing.

"Steve, you okay?"

Danny tapped the earpiece a few times, then turned off the car radio and messed with the dials, just in case it had, somehow, interfered with the connection. "Hello? Earth to Steven!"

Annoyed now, but unwilling to leave his car, Danny decided to make a loop through the Lanikai/Kailua neighborhood to see if his partner had perhaps crossed over the hill and tackled the suspect on the other side. Ten minutes later, he returned empty-handed.

"I'm gonna kill him," he muttered as he rested his head against the wheel and tried to think of the next logical step. "If nobody else gets to him first, then I'm absolutely gonna kill him."

He closed his eyes for a few minutes and tried to think, but the only options involved calling backup, which was useless without a warrant, or going over the fence himself. "Just once, just _once,_ would you listen to me!" he growled to the empty car.

Then his phone rang. Seeing the screen, he groaned.

"Governor Denning, hello." Danny ran a nervous hand over his hair. "I assume you're looking for my partner."

To Danny's surprise, the governor was not looking for his partner. "Detective Williams, I was not aware that Five-0 had a case."

"Oh." Realizing that, in the excitement of the week, he had neglected to finish filing the appropriate paperwork with HPD, Danny sighed. "No sir, we don't. Not exactly."

"Not exactly?"

"We borrowed a case from HPD." _Please don't ask what it is, please don't ask, please don't ask._

"Which case?"

 _Damn_. "A missing… um… unicorn, sir." Danny reddened slightly at the ears.

"I'm sorry, Detective, I don't think I heard that correctly. You're missing a what?"

"A unicorn. A horse dressed as a unicorn. Sir."

"Uh-huh."

"It's a long story, sir."

"I look forward to reading your report. Where's McGarrett?"

 _Oh, now he wants to know about Senor Destructo._ "He's… um…" Danny glanced out the window at the no trespassing sign where Steve had disappeared. "He's out hiking."

"Hiking," returned the governor dubiously.

"Looking for the horse. He's in the field, sir." _Literally_.

"You're being rather vague, Detective Williams." The governor paused and Danny tried to think of a better, logical response. "Actually, Detective, I'd rather not know where McGarrett is, and I don't know what the hell you two are doing, but it needs to stop. I just got a call from the Secretary of the Navy. Do you know who that is?"

Danny gulped. "Yes, sir."

"His message was brief and simple enough that even McGarrett should be able to follow this instruction: Cease and desist. That's it. You are to stop whatever you are doing and return to the Palace."

"But," Danny looked out the window at the rusted fence and grassy hill, "Steve is…"

"Return to the Palace _immediately_ , detective! That's an order!"

Danny swallowed thickly. "Yes, sir."

…

Danny paced Steve's office impatiently, throwing the occasional glance out the glass at Jerry who was still working at the large computer in the bullpen. He'd made some excuse to Jerry, a very lame one he thought, for why Steve had not returned with him, and then immediately sequestered himself in his partner's office where he was now wearing a track on the floor between the two bookshelves.

" _Think, Danno_ ," he muttered to himself as he spared a brief look at the computer screen, which showed an abysmally tiny progress bar in the upper left-hand corner.

The Secretary of the Navy- that was big. Bigger than Danny wanted to think about, if he were being honest. If the man at the top of the food chain was involved, then Steve's career could be over. There might be a court martial or a dishonorable discharge or…

" _Positive thoughts, think positive thoughts_ ," Danny chided himself. He stopped to check the progress bar again. _Emergencies only, Danno_ , Steve had said. Well, if this wasn't an emergency, Danny didn't know what was. He and Steve had discussed possible scenarios before and what each should do in the other's absence, but this was one scenario Danny felt like they had never properly prepared for.

Unlocking one of the drawers with his copy of Steve's key, he pulled out a little device and gave his clothing and the office a once-over. Nothing. That was good. "No one listening to us, babe," he muttered softly as he replaced the small gadget. "Just me and… well, me."

He sat down in the chair behind the desk and watched the tiny bar creep slowly across the screen. He'd begun copying Steve's hard drive off onto a back-up, which he would then hand over to Kamekona to hide in a secure location. It was something they had agreed upon a long time ago, a just-in-case for extreme situations. Danny would like to think that this was all just a misunderstanding but… well…

He opened the phone trace program and entered Steve's number, just as he had done a few minutes before. "Okay big boy, help me out here. Where are you?"

But, of course, the phone was switched off and no location could be found.

He opened Google Maps and zoomed in on the site where Steve had disappeared. He could make out two small, round structures on the top of the hill, but otherwise there was no indication that anyone ever used the place. For all he knew, those two lumps could be water towers or abandoned gun mounts from the war.

"You gotta give me something Steve," he said softly, scouring the map. "Where could you have gone?"

…

After an hour in the dark cell, Steve's anger at being caught had subsided, but his patience was wearing thin. He was mildly offended that he had been left in restraints, particularly this uncomfortable version in which his feet and wrists were attached together behind him, forcing him to remain in a kneeling, cramped posture on an uncomfortably hard, cold floor.

His captors had taken his weapons, wallet, badge, vest, and even his shoes, leaving him only his cargos, T-shirt, and socks. And a blindfold. And that came after a _very_ thorough and systematic search that Steve preferred not to think about. If this was some sort of military or CIA installation- and considering the sign on the fence, Steve felt this was very likely the case- then he thought they would only need to confirm his identity before releasing him, but as the minutes dragged on, he began to reconsider.

They had his wallet. How hard could it be to place a few calls and run a quick background check? He was the head of Five-0 and one of the most recognizable faces on the islands. Maybe they were screwing with him, but why? Steve knew what _should_ happen next: someone would come in, apologize (a sham, of course), return his gear, and then he'd be free to go. And there would be a slap on the wrist for trespassing, possibly desk duty for a week or so, but nothing he hadn't suffered before.

Flexing his shoulders, he tried to relieve some of the strain in his lower back. The discomfort he was currently suffering was nothing compared to what he had suffered before, but he was not looking forward to the earful of angry ranting he would get when he got back to the office. It would be a long time before Danny let him live this one down.

Speaking of… What, exactly, would he tell Danny? His ears burned thinking about it. No details, definitely. Depending on the terms of his release, he might not be allowed to say much at all. But that wouldn't stop Danny from asking.

Steve rolled his head slowly as the tension in his arms and shoulders began to slowly take its toll. The padded restraints on his wrists and ankles wouldn't leave much of a mark, but his brief struggle in the search and seizure room had certainly left some marks. Steve could only hope he had left a mark or two of his own. Being left here, blindfolded, in a cold cell for several hours was probably some kind of punishment for not playing nice. Steve had used similar tactics before at Five-0: lost paperwork, missing signatures, an extra form to sign… anything to delay the inevitable release of a prisoner.

With the task force, there were limits to these tactics, but here? Here, Steve wasn't so sure. He wasn't even sure where 'here' was. He knew- or assumed- that it was only a matter of time before someone came for him, but the question was: how long?

…

The backup of Steve's hard drive now complete, Danny ejected the drive but didn't pocket it just yet. Instead he checked his watch. 12:47 p.m. And long past his scheduled appointment at Queen's. In his hand, he held his phone with the number for the doctor, but he wasn't sure what exactly to say when he called. Dr. Thompson knew him, so simply cancelling wouldn't cut it.

 _Sorry I couldn't come, I was working a case_ , would obviously not work either. He wasn't supposed to be working. He wasn't even supposed to be at the freaking office, and yet here he was anyway. Danny's next thought was _Sorry I couldn't come. My partner is working a case and I couldn't get a ride_. But that didn't sound much better. Because, after all, Danny _could_ get a ride. He could ask Jerry or Duke or any one of the people downstairs for a lift and they would be more than happy to oblige.

But Danny hadn't called them. The responsibility - the honor- the duty- of taking him to his appointment should really fall to Steve, especially since the man had agreed to do it in the first place, and Danny couldn't help feeling a little irked that his partner had forgotten about it so quickly. The case, for once in his life, could not be blamed on his partner, but on Danny himself. Still… Steve shouldn't have forgotten. He shouldn't have agreed to talk to Jerry before going to Queen's. And he certainly shouldn't have jumped that fence in Lanikai.

Danny shuffled the inhaler out of his pocket as something deep in his chest itched uncomfortably, but after a few minutes of careful breathing, the feeling subsided and he put it away again. He hadn't used the little contraption yet, but climbing the stairs to the office this morning had been rougher than he expected. He'd been hiding a cough all morning, clearing his throat or trying to quietly cough into his sleeve instead so as to not alert Jerry or Steve that something was wrong. But when Jerry had left to pick up some lunch a few minutes ago, and with Steve still absent, Danny had finally given in. Thumping his chest vigorously, he _harrumphed_ and _grrumphed_ and hacked and wheezed until his chest felt clear and the itching was gone.

It was probably time to take more meds.

Of course, those were also at Steve's house, on the night stand next to the bed.

Danny plopped down in Steve's desk chair with a suppressed growl. Forget Steve- the man had gotten himself into this mess, and he could get himself out. Danny should just call Duke and get a ride over to the hospital. He could get checked out, go home, take his meds, and spend the remainder of the day resting.

He opened his phone, his finger hovering over Duke's number. Yes, that was what he should do. But…

But he decided to wait just a little while longer.

…

 _Was anyone coming for him?_ _Or was he stuck in isolation forever?_ Steve's left shoulder began to twitch as he contemplated the wisdom of his decision to jump the fence and run up the hill after their suspect. _So, Danny… was it stupid?_ he wondered, imagining what his partner would say. O _r, is this about to lead to the breakthrough that we've needed?_

He found himself drafting an argument to Danny, who would certainly not be pleased with the situation, and his partner's biting retorts were piling up in his mind when he suddenly remembered: _Danny. Doctor's appointment. Hospital_.

Well shit.

No, Danny was not going to be pleased with him at all.

 **A/N:** **The grassy hill is a real place around the corner from my relative's house in Kailua/Lanikai. I never actually hopped the fence, but I was curious, so I looked on Google maps and found some weird, round structures up there when I zoomed in. This chapter is my idea about what's really there.**


	17. Chapter 17- Friday afternoon

**A/N: "Do the 6-mile swim with us," they said. "It'll be fun," they said. Uh huh. Sorry for the lack of updates… I'm still recovering. (Admittedly, it was fun.)**

 **A/N: sorry for any mistakes. No beta on this chp, and I spent less time reviewing than normal. Thanks for continued reviews and favorites! Y'all are awesome!**

Outside Steve's cell, footsteps echoed hollowly down the corridor. The pace was slower and the footfall slightly heavier than the guards posted outside his door. With nothing else to do, Steve had been listening carefully to his guards' movements, listening for not just how many were outside, but also logging their suspected height, weight, and how they might be armed. Of course, he had no use for that information while he was trussed up, but he recorded it all anyway, just in case.

He rolled his head as another muscle spasm pulled painfully in his shoulders. Whoever had tied him up knew exactly what they were doing; it would take several days to work the kinks out.

As the twitching faded, he heard the new footsteps approach his door, stop, and then a command was given. Steve stiffened. A moment later, the door opened and Steve, sensing he was in the presence of a superior officer, straightened slightly.

"Commander McGarrett?" a heavy, older voice asked.

"Yes," Steve jerked his head in acknowledgement.

"Colonel Thule, Army Cyber Division," the voice said briskly. "Let's get you out of those restraints."

A moment later, the blindfold was removed and the heavy restraints fell to the floor as Steve stood and rubbed his wrists appreciatively. The colonel, a tall man with short-cropped hair and a surprisingly thin face, stood by the door as a table and three chairs were brought into the tiny room.

"I apologize for the wait. We needed to confirm your identity," he said briskly, exactly as Steve had expected him to.

Steve didn't bother to acknowledge the lie. No one needed to confirm his identity. No one was sorry about the wait except Steve himself. He knew this game.

The colonel continued, "Now that we know who you are, let's talk about you." The soldier who had brought the chairs left and returned a moment later with a large bag that he set on the floor with a heavy _clunk_ , then took up a position behind Steve near the wall.

The colonel gestured to one of the chairs. "Sit."

Steve sat.

Reaching inside the bag, the colonel began to remove Steve's weapons one by one and carefully laid the confiscated items out on the table.

"That's quite an impressive arsenal you have there," he said when he had finished. "Do you usually carry this much when going to apprehend a suspect?"

"That depends on the suspect," Steve replied vaguely, unsure where the conversation was headed.

"Tell me about the suspect you were chasing today."

"I think you already know about him. Sir."

The colonel's eyes narrowed. "Don't play games with me, Commander. Your immunity will only protect you so far. You reached the end of that protection when you jumped the fence earlier today."

"And my suspect?"

"What about him?"

"What about his immunity? Clearly he's here."

The colonel wasn't impressed. "Careful, Commander," he warned. "Do you know where you are? Do you know where _here_ is?"

Steve made a show of looking at the barren concrete walls and heavy door. "I've got a few ideas."

"Then let me make it clear: this is a place where you might never see the sun again, or the color green, or the ocean you love so much. We're both men of rank," he nodded in acknowledgement of Steve's service, "so do yourself a favor: cooperate. Trust me: I want you out of here as much as you do." Clearing the table of weapons, he passed the full bag to another soldier who took it away. "Let's try this again. Tell me why you're here. We contacted HPD- your task force has no active cases on file."

Which meant that Danny forgot to file the paperwork. Unusual for the normally organized and scrupulous detective, but not impossible. Steve guessed that Danny had probably filled out the appropriate forms but neglected to file them after finding Steve unconscious Tuesday morning. "We do have a case, sir. It may still be logged with HPD in the system, though."

The colonel crossed his arms and waited.

Steve knew when to push boundaries, but he decided now was not the time. _Locked up for eternity because you wanted to push his buttons?_ he imagined Danny lecturing him. _What the hell were you thinking? Play 'Whose is biggest?' later!_ Steve sighed and forced his pride down.

"We identified a suspect in our latest case. He's using the alias Aaron Hernandez," he began and laid out the facts as succinctly as possible. "We believe he may have ties to a Chinese gang involved in drug and weapons trafficking. My partner and I were kidnapped by this gang Wednesday evening. This morning, my team identified Hernandez in video footage from the scene of the kidnapping. We were able to locate him and then followed him here."

Steve noted that the colonel appeared unsurprised by this information. There were none of the usual questions that would have followed such a statement, like, _"How did you escape?"_ or _"Were you or your partner injured?"_ He frowned, annoyed, but also disconcerted. How much did the colonel already know? And, more to the point, why did he care?

Even with the addition of drugs and weapons to their missing 'unicorn' case, Steve had no clue how the Army Cyber Division might be involved. Created only in the past few years, it was the Army's response to increased security threats to the military from other nations, with a particular eye on Russia and China. Unless one of their kidnappers had ties to something far bigger than a drug-toting unicorn, he was at a loss for the colonel's interest in him.

"This 'Mr. Hernandez," the colonel began, watching Steve carefully, "what makes you believe he is involved and not simply an unfortunate bystander at the scene?"

"We have him on multiple security footage stills throughout the week. He has clearly been following us and our progress on the case. We believe Mr. Hernandez has either been passing information to one or more of the cartels and gangs who have shown an interest in the stolen drugs, or is possibly a member of one of these groups."

"And you believe he is here?"

"I know he's here," Steve stated. "I know he's here and that you are protecting him. What I can't figure out, though, is why the Army Cyber Division is interested in a horse thief and low-level drug dealer."

Something almost like a smirk crossed the colonel's face. Going to the door, he spoke quietly to someone outside. A few minutes passed while before he returned.

"Tell me, Commander McGarrett: is this your suspect?" The colonel gestured and a young man entered.

Steve started. Clean, in fresh clothes and with combed hair, 'Aaron Hernandez' had an entirely different appearance from the dirty, curly-haired thug Steve had chased earlier.

"That's him, but-"

"Allow me to introduce Blake Romero," Colonel Thule interrupted. "He is working undercover with a local Chinese gang that we've taken an interest in."

Several pieces suddenly fell in place for Steve.

"This is about espionage."

"Yes."

"And Daniel Ma, the father of the birthday girl. You believe he took something. But…" Steve tried to pull the pieces together, "he's not Chinese."

"But his wife is, and she has ties to a segment of the Triads that appears to receive funding from Beijing. We believe she influenced her husband to download classified information at his work onto a thumb drive and bring it home for her to pass along to the Triads."

"So you posed as FBI and tried to intercept him with the thumb drive before he could pass it over. You found him at the birthday party, but the thumb drive was missing. You think he hid it in the horse."

"Very good," the colonel nodded. "And now we need to find the horse."

"What about the wife and daughter?"

"They don't have it. We know for a fact that she never received the thumb drive." The colonel didn't mention _how_ they knew and Steve didn't ask. "Of course, the Chinese have come to the same conclusion and are determined to find the drive first, by any means necessary. We obviously can't let that happen. We've been following Five-0's progress for the past week in the hopes that you might uncover a clue that we missed."

"And by 'following our progress,' you mean him," Steve nodded disdainfully at Romero. "He's been following us all week, reporting back to you."

The colonel and Romero exchanged looks but did not deny the statement.

Steve leaned back and folded his arms as he addressed the colonel, but his eyes were fixed on Blake. "Let me get this straight- he followed us all week? The gunfight at the wharf- my partner was shot and we were pinned down with very little ammo and few options- we could have died, but instead of helping, he sat and watched." Steve stared the young man down and was pleased to see him flinch slightly under his glare. "Where were you, Mr. Romero? Nice, comfy, air conditioned car somewhere?"

"Commander," the colonel rumbled in warning.

"What about Wednesday?" Steve continued, ignoring the colonel. "We have you on camera in your car again, watching my partner and I get kidnapped. Did you feed them information about the sting? Were you at the warehouse when we were being tortured? Maybe grab some popcorn and a coke while Danny was being waterboarded…"

"Commander, that's enough."

"No. You know what? Screw you," Steve shot back at the colonel. He pushed his chair back, nostrils flaring as he shoved his finger in Blake Romero's face. "My partner almost died this week and you didn't do a damn thing to prevent it. The next time you decide to use Five-0 as bait, you sure as hell better let me know or else I'll- _oomph!_ "

But whatever he would have done was lost as the guard behind him, sensing danger, stepped forward and Steve suddenly felt a stab of pain and found himself on the ground with the guard's knee in the small of his back and one arm wrapped tightly around his neck. As the guard tightened his grip around Steve's neck, four more men rushed through the door, weapons drawn. Slightly dazed as spots danced in his vision, Steve winced as his hands were pulled behind him and zip ties slipped over his wrists.

"Enough," came the colonel's voice. "Let him up."

"Yes sir." The guard pulled the still-unfastened zipties off and stepped back. Steve lay on the ground a moment, blinking as his faculties slowly caught up. Then he pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. He didn't need to look behind him to know that the guard was hovering just out of reach, ready to intervene again if necessary.

"Let's try this again, Commander," Colonel Thule said sternly, "and this time, you _will_ remain seated. That is not a suggestion."

"Yes sir." Disgruntled, Steve sat stiffly in his chair as the guard fastened one wrist to his chair with handcuffs.

With a frown reflective of not just Steve's actions but the entire situation, the colonel continued: "I realize you feel betrayed, but you need to understand that we were prepared to intervene if we felt the situation required it. Mr. Romero has kept us up-to-date on each situation as it happened, and we have had a team on standby, should it be required."

"And being waterboarded didn't require intervention?" Steve retorted unable to hide the bitterness in his voice. "What circumstances _do_ require intervention, _sir_?"

This time, Blake Romero stepped forward. "We- I- lost track of you after the Chinese captured you that night. We realized the gravity of the situation, but were unable to locate the warehouse where you were being held. I apologize for the stress caused to Detective Williams and yourself, but it was outside of my control."

"I thought you were undercover with them?"

A small twitch, almost a smile, crossed Blake Romero's face. "Yes, well…" and Steve realized the situation had been a grave error on the young man's part. "I'm still very low on the food chain," Romero shrugged. "The warehouse where you were held wasn't a location I was aware of. By the time we located you, you were on the Big Island and being treated at the hospital."

"Exactly. So," the colonel rubbed his hands together, clearly eager to move on. "Any final complaints?" he asked with a hint of sarcasm.

"You should have told me ahead of time, sir. I like to know why I'm being shot at." Steve was pushing the boundaries of acceptable behavior, but he still felt used and abused and wanted it clear where he stood. "Ask me before you use my team as bait next time."

"We couldn't do that."

"Why not?"

"This is classified information, commander."

"But you're telling me now."

"Things have changed."

"What has changed?"

Colonel Thule and Romero exchanged a glance. At a short gesture from the colonel, the guards left the room and closed the door, leaving the three men behind in silence. The colonel pulled out a folder and laid it on the table. "You may share the following information with your team: Mr. Ma stole a thumb drive containing classified information and attempted to pass it to foreign agents, but was intercepted before the exchange could take place."

"But there's more," Steve guessed. There was always more. He settled back for the longer explanation.

"What I'm about to tell you cannot leave this room. You may not share this information with Detective Williams or any other member of your team. Is this clear?"

"Yes, sir."

The colonel opened the folder. "When you did a background search on Mr. Ma, it triggered several alerts for us. Much of his information hadn't yet been removed from the system, so you were able to learn quite a bit about him before we took the information down. What do you recall about his background?"

Steve frowned. Monday night was now ages ago, and the drugging incident wasn't helping his memory at all. "He's Russian. Or was. Took his wife's name when they married. That's about all I remember."

Colonel Thule nodded. "Good enough. We have reason to believe that Mr. Ma never gave up his loyalties to Soviet Russia. The country may have a new name and some new faces in Moscow, but the truth is that many of the old names and faces are still working behind the scenes toward the same goals. Russia suffered an embarrassing defeat in the Cold War. They may not admit that they lost, but the United States emerged in a far better state economically, scientifically, and socially, than their rival. Russia needed- and still needs- to save face. They want to be a dominant player. And, unlike some of their Soviet-converted-to-Capitalist neighbors, their motivations and intentions are not good."

"And what are their intentions?" Steve asked.

"Cyberterrorism."

Inside the cell, it was very quiet. Steve leaned forward and studied Mr. Ma's picture clipped inside the folder. "Cyberterrorism," he repeated slowly. "Is this about the elections?"

"Partly. Just another playground for them to test their prowess. There's no evidence Moscow actually _did_ anything with the intel they obtained; just showing they could hack in and obtain it seems to have been the goal. We believe their little endeavor was just an exercise, a test run, if you will."

"So they're practicing for something." And if the 2016 elections were 'just' a playground, Steve was deeply concerned what the actual target might be. "What is it? What is this 'practice' for?"

"That's above your pay grade, commander. You aren't in Navy Intelligence anymore. My superiors have agreed to read you in on the information I just gave you- no more."

"With all due respect, sir…" Steve began, but the colonel held up a hand.

"You're not on this case. I'm giving you this information because this case, _our case_ , keeps finding you. You need to be aware of what you're dealing with, and, if you should find the thumb drive, know that it is property of the US Government and you are to turn it over to me immediately. Without looking at the contents," he added seriously.

Steve pursed his lips and repressed frustrated growl. To be read in, even partially, on a case of this magnitude only to then be told "Stay away" was hardly fair in his opinion. "Sir, I believe the Five-0 task force could be a valuable asset in this case."

"You and your team can help us by looking for the missing horse. We aren't sure at this point whether the drive is hidden on the horse, or whether Mr. Ma stashed it somewhere else before his arrest. Or, if you prefer, you can focus on the drugs and gang-related violence, but anything having to do with the thumb drive or our Chinese and Russian friends is off limits. Stay out of it and pass the information to either myself or Mr. Romero."

Steve avoided looking at Mr. Romero, but he didn't miss the small (and, Steve thought, smug) nod the man gave at the colonel's instructions. Directing his attention to the colonel, he tried a different tactic. "We're out of leads, sir. We need something else to go on. A suspect, evidence, surveillance footage, something."

"Fine. You'll get your suspect," Colonel Thule nodded agreeably. "We've come across one or two people who don't have anything useful for us, but they might be helpful to you if you'd like to take down a few of these local gangs. But," he leaned forward, folding both hands on the table and looked pointedly at Steve, "in return, I expect you to steer clear of our operation and turn over any related intelligence to me. Do we have an understanding?"

Steve nodded. "Yes, sir."

…

One hour later, a blindfold was ripped from Steve's face as he was pushed out of a black SUV and onto the Palace lawn. Tumbling across the grass, he quickly picked himself up and turned around, but the van was already gone.

…

"Where the hell have you been?!"

Steve had expected an irate Danny and was rewarded with an especially irritated form of his partner marching out of his own office as he entered the Five-0 lobby. "I was detained," he said shortly. Jerry, typing away at the central console, stopped his work and looked up with interest. "And why are you in my office?" Steve added to Danny, hoping to reroute the conversation.

"Me? I'm doing the plan. Our plan. And don't change the subject," Danny continued stubbornly. "What do you mean, 'detained'? Like, detained, detained? Secret CIA black site or something?"

"I can't talk about it, D." Stepping around his desk, Steve noted the finished copy procedure on the computer and the unplugged the hard drive next to Danny's inhaler.

Danny snorted. " _Can't talk about it_ … Wait, are those…" Leaning in, he suddenly snatched one of Steve's arm's in a strong grip. "Are those cuff marks?" His fingers briefly traced the red irritation around the wrist before Steve yanked his arm away.

"I don't want to talk about it, D."

"So they _are_!"

Steve snagged a water bottle from a drawer and took a long drink, using the few seconds to decide how to best respond to his partner.

"Well?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "We are _not_ talking about this, D." Pointing to the inhaler, he cast a concerned look over his partner. "Why is this here?"

"Because it's annoying when it sits in my pocket. All it does is take up space."

Steve cocked an eyebrow. If that wasn't some b.s., then Steve didn't know what was. He opened his mouth to say as much, but Danny beat him to it.

"And don't change the subject. Why are we not talking about your little field trip?" Danny demanded. "You disappear for several hours, and when you show up again, you're all mysterious and crap and- are those grass stains on your shirt?"

Danny was interrupted as Jerry, having overheard enough to pique his curiosity, summoned a new image on the screen. "Sweet ride, dude!" he whistled.

Steve groaned. A magnified still from the security feed outside of the Palace showed him tumbling ungracefully across the lawn as a dark, unmarked SUV exited the lot behind him.

"Well, that explains the grass stains," Danny commented, "but that does _not_ satisfactorily explain everything else."

"And you're not going to get a satisfactory explanation this time, Danny, so get used to it."

"Oh really? Why not? Who are those guys, Steven?"

Steve stopped and growled in annoyance as Jerry peered at them curiously. Taking a deep breath, he folded his arms and gave his partner a hard look. "Danny. And Jerry. Look, if you value your job, your life… if you value what you have here, at Five-0… you will shut up right now."

Perhaps it was his tone, or his glare, or his feet-spread, angry-intimidation stance, but Danny suddenly calmed. He looked around the room, then returned his gaze to his partner and asked seriously, "Is this one of those 'classified and I'll have to kill you' things?"

"Yes," Steve said seriously.

"Oh." Danny seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded. "Okay."

Jerry likewise seemed to realize this was not something to be taken lightly. "I'd rather not die today," he commented as he closed the security footage and returned to whatever he had been doing before.

"Good." Relieved, Steve ran a tired hand through his hair and his eyes fell again on the inhaler. "Do we need to go to the hospital?"

"Um yeah, about five hours ago," Danny shot back. "No point in doing it now. Dr. Karsten's shift ended a while back."

"Oh." Sheepishly, he added, "Sorry, D. I didn't know I'd be gone that long."

"Yeah, yeah," Danny waved him off. "It's fine. I got a little out of breath climbing the stairs, but it's fine. I ended up not needing it," he explained, answering Steve's earlier question. "As long as we go tomorrow, I'm sure one more day won't be a problem."

"I'll take you first thing in the morning."

Danny wrinkled his nose. "How about around lunch? Tomorrow's Saturday- you know, weekend? Day off? I'd kind of like to sleep in. You can go swim, run, bike, or whatever else you do at those ungodly hours on your day off, and I'll get re-acquainted with my bed."

"You spent two nights away from home. I don't think your bed has forgotten you." But Steve was looking forward to his own bed as well, and if he slept in an extra hour or two tomorrow morning, Danny wouldn't know. "Do we have a suspect in interrogation?"

"Do we have a what?" Danny's sudden swing in demeanor would have been funny if Steve weren't still irritated from his conversation with Romero. "No we don't have a suspect! How could we? You didn't catch the guy!"

"Wrong guy," Steve muttered as he unloaded his weapons, which had been dumped out with him, and returned them to the gun cabinet. "Have you checked interrogation?"

"Yes."

"Recently?"

"Um, no. Criminals don't just say, 'Eh, I think I'll turn myself in today. Let me just walk down to the basement and cuff myself to this chair.' It doesn't happen, babe."

…

But it had. Steve couldn't help the small smirk that flickered across his face when Danny saw the suspect nice and neatly cuffed and slouched over in the chair downstairs. After a solid 60 seconds of silence, Danny wordlessly summoned his partner and exited the room.

"How…" Danny pointed at the closed interrogation room door and stopped. He shook his head as though clearing water from his ears and tried again. "How on earth did that even happen? Do I want to know?" He stopped, pinched his nose, and shook his head. "You know what, never mind. No. I don't want to know. I don't care to know. Just… just tell me who this is."

"I don't know," Steve replied honestly.

"You don't know."

"No."

"But you knew he was here."

"I had a hunch, yeah."

"Well, he's pretty out of it right now." Danny nudged the door open and peeked inside again. "Actually, if I didn't know better, I'd say he's unconscious."

"Yeah…" Steve rubbed the back of his neck. "He might be," he confirmed.

"You can't interrogate an unconscious man."

"No…" Steve sighed and Danny caught a hint of frustration- or was it disappointment?- in his voice. "I'll call Max over and have him checked out. The suspect can stay there until morning."

"Cuffed to the chair?" Even with their substantial immunity, Danny smelled a lawsuit.

"He can stay in the room. On the floor. I'll have his leg cuffed to the chair. And maybe put in a camping pad." He cocked an eye at Danny. "Does that meet your approval?"

"Not really but…" Danny could feel his own bed at home calling to him. "As long as Max gives the okay, it'll work, yeah."

"Good. Go home, D. Get some rest."

"Yeah, yeah." Danny waved him off as he trudged tiredly toward the elevator. " _Rest_ ," he muttered under his breath. "What is this mysterious stuff, _rest_?"

 **A/N: I really,** ** _really_** **wanted to whump Steve in this last chapter, but it just didn't fit with what I had planned for later, so I gave the plot bunny a good, hard kick and kept moving. Sorry. But I went ahead and wrote the Steve whump scenes for later!**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Howdy! Trying to push this out before a long weekend of driving. For grannyv3, thanks! I'm one of the younger people in our swim group but not the youngest and definitely not fast. I'm just good at doing a repetitive task for hours at a time. (haha…) It's also nearly silent under water, which is pure bliss after a day at work (noisy and chaotic at my job).**

 **…**

"Hey, hey, it's da big kahuna! Howzit, brah?"

"Kind of early, Kamekona." Steve looked around the empty grass lot where the shrimp king was setting up his truck for the day. The sun hadn't yet peaked over the ridge and the beach was unusually quiet as the morning breeze blew a stray wrapper across the parking lot. "No shrimp breakfast?"

"For you, I kin fire up my grill."

"No thanks; already ate," Danny quickly lied, his stomach not quite feeling up to seafood for breakfast. He planned to snag a quick bite on the way to the office afterwards. "You said you had something for us?" He hadn't actually slept in (although he'd certainly tried) and was already up and dressed when Steve showed up unannounced at his door. Pushing a cup of coffee into his hand, Steve had explained that Kamekona had a tip and, despite the early hour, insisted on talking to them in person.

The big man wiped his hands on his apron and leaned forward with a conspiratorial whisper. "Word on da street is, you lookin' for a unicorn."

"Um, that 'word' was on the news a few days ago. That's not new information," Danny sniped, irritable that his morning and likely a good chunk of his weekend was now taken from him.

The large Samoan frowned. "I know dat, brah. You wanna hear what I got or not?"

"We're listening," Steve said, shooting Danny a warning look. He wondered how, exactly, the shrimp king could get that information at this hour of the morning when most of the island was still asleep. Late night illegal poker game, maybe? "Did the word on the street tell you where this unicorn is?"

" 'Fraid not. But I gots to warn you- them Indonesians is dangerous!"

Steve ran a thumb across his eyebrow and frowned, nonplussed. "Indonesians? Don't you mean Russians or Chinese?"

"Nah, brah, I know my geography," Kamekona nodded confidently. "It was Indonesians and they's pissed."

"Uh huh." Steve wondered if Kamekona had gotten his information wrong. "Any idea where I can find these angry Indonesians?"

"Last I heard, they gots a place in Pearl City, near da wharf."

Under his breath, Danny muttered, " _Great. Wharf again._ "

Steve ignored him. "Anything else?"

"You want to find them? I kin draw you a map." Pulling a napkin off a nearby table, he scrawled a rough outline of the wharf and several buildings before scratching a star on top of one. "That's where it's supposed to be."

"Okay. Thanks, Kamekona." Steve turned to leave, but Kamekona had not quite finished.

"Be careful, brah," the large Samoan said. "Them's dangerous folk. Don't want you and Jersey getting' hurt."

…

"So you _aren't_ Indonesian?"

"Indonesian? Who da hell tell you dat?" The scrawny kid didn't wait for an answer. "I'm Hawaiian, haole. You an idiot, or just blind?" and he looked down at his tanned skin pointedly. "I'm gunna sue for racial profiling, brah! You leave me chained up in here all night. You can't do that- I got rights!"

Danny ignored him and flipped through the packet that the printer had spit out a few minutes ago. "How'd you end up working for the Yakuza, James?"

"I don' work for the Yakuza." The kid tossed his long, black locks with a defiant flick of his head. "And it's _Jimmy_."

"Really?" Danny tapped the clipboard and cocked and raised an eyebrow. "Cause it says here that you do and Mr. Chung is your employer." The papers didn't, actually. The background check was still in progress, but HPD had left a note on James Takoa's- _Jimmy's_ \- file about his suspected employer. The paper Danny held contained the young man's school records until he dropped out two years ago. But based on the kid's almost-clean arrest record, Danny had a feeling he hadn't seen this bluff before.

"I don't _work_ for Mr. Chung," Jimmy said in a more modest tone, not catching the trick. "I help him out now and then. And you didn't answer my question, brah: why you keep me in here all night?"

"It's a holding cell," Danny gestured at the barren room with his clip board. "It's what it's for."

"This? This ain't no holding cell," Jimmy scoffed. "Where the bed? Toilett?"

"That's why there's a drain. Tell me about the work you do for Chung."

Jimmy cast a nervous look at the 'toilet.' When he answered, his tone was somewhat softer. "I don't work for him. I _help_ him. There's a difference."

"Right. And he 'helps' you out with a paycheck." Danny took Jimmy's silence as confirmation. "What were you doing when you were picked up?"

"Nothing."

"Except trespassing and kidnapping." Danny actually had no idea what James Takoa had been doing when Steve's mysterious _friends_ had picked him up, nor how long the kid had been in their custody. The kid had been dropped off with no information, just a name and a birthdate on a piece of paper pinned to his shirt. Running the name, Danny and Steve had come up with a list of petty theft and miscellaneous drug charges, and a note from the gang unit that he was affiliated with the Yakuza, but nothing else particularly sparked their interest. When it came time for the interrogation, Danny drew the short straw. Steve, uninterested in the banality of the case, stayed upstairs and continued his 'research.'

"Look, I already told Mr. Suits everything I know."

"Who's Mr. Suits?"

"You know, the bossy guy. Older dude, dress real nice."

 _Another of Steve's 'friends,'_ Danny decided. "Do I look like Mr. Suits?" he demanded.

"No. And this ain't that other place, either. This place smells," he wrinkled his nose.

"Okay, so: new place, new face. I haven't heard the story yet. Tell me."

Jimmy cast a sidelong glance at the short detective. "You gonna charge me for that crack pipe?"

"That depends. How much information do you want to tell me?"

Jimmy stared at him stonily.

 _Not much, apparently._ Danny set his clipboard aside and folded his arms. "Here's the deal, Jimmy- your boss is in some deep trouble and we've got evidence this time. It's not just about the drugs- it's about everything else Mr. Chung has been involved in lately, and unless you cooperate, I'm going to make sure you go down as an accessory." Technically, it was all lies. HPD had been after Chung since he'd first hit their radar a few years ago, but the man was careful. Danny only hoped the kid was as much as an idiot as he appeared to be and was pleased when Jimmy's eyes widened slightly at the threat.

"Jimmy, you're looking at a lot more than a few days for petty theft and trespassing."

Jimmy shifted nervously in the cold chair. Danny waited him out. For a few minutes, the only sound was the grinding drone of the AC in the background. Then…

"Look, I wasn't involved in a kidnapping. I, uh… I was busy with other things." Jimmy tried to straighten in the chair and Danny noticed the needle marks on his arm for the first time.

"You mean drugs."

"Uh…"

"So tell me about the drugs."

"I dunno, brah. I just do what Mr. Chung tells me."

"And what did he tell you?"

"Sit up there and take notes."

"Up where?" Danny prodded with a bit of impatience.

Jimmy heaved an exaggerated sigh of annoyance. "He wants me to watch this building up at the wharf. I sit up in some old place with binoculars and write down all the trucks that come in and out- times, kind of truck, cargo and license plates if I can see it. And boats- wants me to watch them, too."

"Why?"

"I dunno," Jimmy shrugged and Danny had to focus very hard on not strangling him. "I don't ask questions- curiosity killed the cat, you know."

"So I've heard," Danny ground out. "What about the horse?"

"Oh yeah."

Now Danny wanted to smack him. "Yeah, what?"

"Yeah, he said to call him if I saw a horse. Or a unicorn. But I didn't see nothin' like that."

"Which building were you watching?"

"Tan-ish one. By the water. With the big gate and fence."

"You don't know the name?" Rolling his eyes, Danny pulled up Google Maps on his tablet and pushed the device under the prisoner's nose. "Which one?"

"Oh… uh…" Jimmy skimmed the wharf as Danny scrolled back and forth. "I dunno, man. They all look the same from up here. You got street view or something? Maybe that one… no… that one?"

"This one?" Danny pointed to the warehouse where he and Steve had been involved in the shootout a few days prior.

"Maybe."

"And you watch it?"

"With binoculars, yeah. Can't see nothin' otherwise. And take notes, like I told ya." Jimmy flashed Danny a hopeful look. "So? Do I get my call now?"

"Seriously? You think that little tidbit earned you a call?" Danny asked incredulously. "We're not done yet, Binocular Boy. Where did your intel come from? Who gave your boss the information about the unicorn?"

"I don't know."

"Don't know the guy? Don't know his name? What don't you know?" Danny asked in exasperation.

"Don't know his name. He showed up at, uh… this shop, and Kao hears him talking 'bout drugs and shit."

"Hang on," Danny interrupted, throwing up a hand, "Who's Kao?"

"He's Troy's brother."

Danny sighed. "And who is Troy?"

"He work for Mr. Chung."

"And he was talking about drugs? You sure it wasn't guns?"

"Hell naw, brah. Mr. Chung don't care 'bout guns. Just the other stuff."

Danny was pretty sure Mr. Chung cared quite a bit about guns based on the weapons trafficking allegations HPD had tried to bring against him last year, but he decided to ignore Jimmy's ignorance. The kid was probably so far down the food chain that he had no idea. But part of Jimmy's inevitable community service sentence would be a couple of communication courses at the local college, Danny decided. "So he only cares about 'other stuff'?"

"Yeah."

" 'Stuff' being drugs?" Danny clarified.

"Yeah. He said the Triads and some California gang, 18th Street or something like that, anyway, they're looking for this unicorn cause they want the drugs, and somebody said-"

"Wait, wait." Danny pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to sort out what he'd just heard. "There's another gang involved in all this?"

Jimmy shrugged. "Look, man, all I know is I'm supposed to sit up there and write down these trucks and call if I see a unicorn. That's it."

"And _did_ you see a unicorn?"

"Naw. Waste of time. Just a lota birds and crap."

…

"I'll tell you what's a waste of time." Danny sat upstairs with Steve, reviewing his notes from the interrogation. "Talking to Jimmy Takoa. _That_ is a waste of time."

"Aw. He can't be that bad."

Danny raised an eyebrow. "Wanna bet? He makes Charlie sound like an Oscar-winning screen writer." Shuffling his notes, he paused at a small item scribbled on his notepad. "Here's what I want to know: if the unicorn is carrying drugs, who in their right mind thinks, ' _I know, let's take these drugs and hide it in a unicorn! What could go wrong?_ ' Seriously, who thinks of these things?"

Steve shrugged. The final background check had revealed nothing more about the young man sitting in the basement except that he was, in fact, of Indonesian descent, and it only confirmed their suspicions that he was a low-level player in a much larger game. "How'd he get caught?"

"Said he was high and firing off some gun he'd 'found' down in the wharf when your Men in Black friends picked him up. I guess they got everything they needed from him."

"Yeah…" Steve pulled up a map of the wharf and skimmed it absentmindedly. "To me, it sounds like the Yakuza are planning a heist."

"Yes, but we don't care about that."

"Sure we do."

"No, no we do not." Danny rapped sharply on Steve's desk to get his partner's attention. "Remember your little friends you spent several hours with yesterday? They told you to focus on the horse and stay away from everything else."

"They said I could go after the drug ring, too, Danny. We should at least go back to the wharf and check it out." Irked at being left out of the much more exciting case involving the Russians and the stolen thumb drive, Steve was itching to get out into the field and have some excitement of his own. "Just a quick look, Danny. That's all. Then we go to the hospital, I promise."

"Famous last words," Danny muttered, but he followed his partner out the door.

…

"So." Danny hummed the word under his breath with a frown, not at all pleased with their current position a few hours later. "Another stakeout." He drummed his fingers impatiently on the dash and squinted out the window at the building across the lot. "Two very _hot_ stakeouts this week."

It was past lunch time and the sun was peaking overhead. The forecasted high was in the normal range for a Hawaiian winter, and Steve had settled on his usual cargos-and-tee combo for this outing. _Maybe if Danny would ditch the button-up and wear a T-shirt like the rest of the state…_ but his thoughts were interrupted as Danny continued.

"Two very _long_ stakeouts this week."

Tuesday's patrol around the docks hadn't been that long. Not nearly as long as that time in the cat lady's apartment. But Danny knew this. He was deliberately pushing Steve's buttons. Danny wanted a response. Steve didn't plan on giving one.

"And I'd like to note that we haven't visited the hospital yet. Again."

Steve shifted guiltily in his seat. He couldn't deny Danny that one, but his partner seemed to be doing fine, with only a hint of a cough, and the small inhaler was tucked away in one of Danny's pockets if needed.

 _Click. Click._

Steve gave an imperceptible growl as Danny began- _again_ \- to click the ballpoint pen he had found in the glovebox.

 _Click. Click. Clickita-click. Clickita-click._ "So… about your 'meeting' yesterday…"

"I already told you, Danny. I. Can't. Talk. About. It."

"You know, you say that, but what does that really mean?" The pen clicking mercifully stopped as Danny used both hands to emphasize his point. "Does it mean you'll be court martialed for telling me? Fired? Locked up forever? Tortured and killed?"

"It means I received an order and I intend to obey it." Nevermind that the order came from an army colonel and Steve was Navy…

"So… court martial?" _Click. Clickita-click._

"Danny, if you really want me to lose my job and end up in a military prison, then by all means, keep talking! But I'll go down for murder- yours- before I tell you what happened." What he didn't add, and what he desperately wanted to explain, was that the car was probably bugged and it was very likely that Romero or one of Thule's other underlings was listening in on their conversation. Without knowing the extent of the surveillance, Steve didn't even feel comfortable writing a note to his partner explaining this. Instead, he had to play the classified card- _again_ \- and deal with the fallout. And currently that fallout was sitting beside him in the form of his annoyed and irritated partner.

 _Clickita, clickita, click._

Steve groaned.

 _Click, click._ "I played drums in high school, you know."

Steve grunted. He'd heard this story before, but at least Danny had let the other matter drop. For now.

"Thought about doing it in college- should've, really. Mom thought so, anyway."

 _Maybe he has Alzheimer's._ Steve cast him a sideways glance when Danny wasn't looking. _Maybe it's early-onset dementia and that's why he tells me these stories over and over again._

 _Clickita-clickita-click._

"What do you think? Should I have done drums in college?"

Steve grunted noncommittally. _Should've taken that pen out of the glovebox, McGarrett,_ he chided himself. _Should've hidden it somewhere._

"I could've rocked that uniform." _Clickita-click, click_

Steve grunted again. _Blunt force trauma might do the trick._

"Did you ever play anything besides guitar?"

Steve shrugged. _A quick blow to the back of the neck. No one would ever know._

"I only took lessons for a few months. Then I-"

Steve interrupted. "We've got movement." They didn't, actually, but Steve threw the binoculars at Danny and made a show of staring so intently at the building across the street that the detective finally shut up and followed suit. It wasn't the warehouse where Steve and Danny had been involved in the shootout earlier, but it was nearby and dilapidated enough to draw their attention. It matched Jimmy's description, aside from a few details that Danny had imagined could have been omitted while he was shooting up in some dark recess of the building, came pretty close to what Kamekona had drawn on the napkin for them earlier.

Rather than go in guns-blazing, however, Steve had reluctantly decided that the safest play would be staking the building out and waiting to see who came and went. Unfortunately for them, no one had come or even approached within a thousand yards of the building in the past several hours.

If Danny had his doctor's clearance for field duty, the situation would have been quite different.

There were a few minutes of blissful silence. Then-

"I see him. Northeast corner, third floor."

Steve frowned. He had been lying about the movement. Leaning over the dash, he peered upwards at the indicated window. Sure enough, a dark shadow passed by the open window of the condemned structure. _Go figure._

"How do you want to play this?" Danny was already in tactical mode, deciding his next step, trying to lay plans that the SEAL would probably ignore in favor of a grenade or rocket launcher.

Steve checked their surroundings again with obvious unease. They were parked under a grove of trees at the edge of the wharf. To their left, an overgrown field backed up to a new neighborhood of shiny, white duplexes. To the right, a series of warehouses and offices padded the shore between the road and the edge of the wharf, terminating under the cluster of trees where they now sat. The building in question was an abandoned, 3-story brown building with vines sprouting from its second-floor windows. The upper floor commanded a sweeping view of the parking lot and covered the only entrance that Steve could see into the place.

"I don't like it," Steve admitted. "Not enough cover. They'll spot us before we make the door."

"We don't even know if it is a _they_ ," Danny pointed out. "Maybe it's just some homeless guy."

"Or maybe it's a cartel hideout."

"Then maybe we should call for backup."

Steve snorted.

"Oh. Right. You don't do backup."

"You are my backup, D," Steve spoke the familiar refrain without really thinking. He took a moment to weigh their options. "What if I cause a distraction? I'll draw the guy's attention, keep him at the window while you go up the stairs and nab him."

"Distraction? What kind of distraction?" Danny asked suspiciously. "It better not be anything like the last time you used that word."

"Danny, that was just a small explosion, and the governor was completely fine with it."

"That's not how I remember it," Danny muttered. He fidgeted with the binoculars in silent thought until Steve suddenly reached across him for the glovebox. "What are you doing?" Realization dawned and Danny shook his head vehemently. "Whoa, Rambo! I don't think so. Put the grenades away; I've got this."

Before Steve could protest, Danny slipped in his earpiece, tucked his weapon out of sight, and slid out of the car. Loosening his tie, he shrugged a crick out of his neck, then bent over and scooped something off the ground. Squinting, Steve could see that it was an old beer bottle. He watched Danny shake it out and refill it with water from a puddle before sauntering slowly down the road. Once safely distanced from the car, Danny let loose a massive belch and began to sing randomly in a horribly off-key tenor.

Steve's eyes widened in shock. Pulling out his phone, he began discreetly filming the unusual performance. "You know, Danny, I think you might have picked the wrong career," he joked into the mic. "Maybe you should give acting a try."

Danny waved his finger drunkenly toward the sky.

Steve couldn't help a grin, knowing the gesture was meant for him. "How much will you pay me to keep Chin and Kono from seeing this?"

"For your information," Danny hissed in a low voice, "this got me out of a bad situation with a gang in the Bronx once."

"Ah. You never tell us the good stories, Danno."

"You never ask." He sounded slightly miffed.

"You never needed me to ask before." Steve turned the binoculars toward the building and was pleased to see that their shadowy scout had returned, standing just within Steve's line of sight, his focus on the drunk man below. "He's back," Steve muttered and slid out of the car.

Slipping across the empty lot, he vaulted the chain link fence and quickly entered the back entrance of the decaying structure. A lone stairwell took him to the third floor. The stairs opened onto a dim hallway. Sand, leaves, and old wrappers littered the floor, but there was no Indonesian gang, no homeless man, and no wild shootout.

Steve crept forward while Danny continued to sing into his mic. He cleared the floor methodically, room by room. Piles of rags, trash, and cardboard festered in the corners of each room and the stench of old urine, cats, and dead pigeons weighed heavily the air. He treaded carefully, testing each step and avoiding the jagged holes scattered across the floor. The old wood bent dangerously under his boots and his progress slowed to a crawl.

"Steve?" Danny stopped singing. "How we doing? Any 'angry Indonesians' yet?"

Unable to respond without risking his position, Steve tapped the microphone twice. Danny must have understood because the singing resumed a few seconds later. Steve moved forward again. Four rooms left. Now three. Now two.

The door to the last room was open.

 **A/N: Have a great weekend! Thanks for the continued reviews and support!**


	19. Chapter 19- Lost and Found- and Lost

**A/N: Howdy! Very jealous of all you people with television who get to watch the episodes as they come out. I can't wait to meet the new team members! What do you think of them so far?**

 **A/N: You can find the SPAWAR building in Pearl City on Google Maps, by the way. In case you're bored and want something fun to do.**

 **…**

 **** _Steve cleared the building methodically, room by room. As Danny sang distractingly off-key in the parking lot, Steve moved stealthily forward along the third floor. Four rooms left. Now three. Now two._

 _The door to the last room was open._

It was empty.

Steve turned in a complete circle, looking for a possible second door, another exit from the small, cramped space, but saw nothing. The four walls contained only a single door and, opposite it, a single window with a rotting, wooden window ledge. Popping his earpiece out- Danny's singing was particularly horrendous- he listened for any sound of another person. The noise of the wharf, the clanging and whistling and banging, could be heard from all the various docks and warehouses on the other side of the glassless window, but the building itself was quiet.

Steve popped the earpiece back in. "It's empty," he spoke into his mic.

Danny stopped singing. "How empty?"

"There's no one here. But…" looking around the room, Steve began to catalogue the equipment set up on the boxes and crates, "someone was here. We've got a portable battery, some listening equipment, infrared goggles, recording devices…"

"Surveillance gear." Danny jogged back across the parking lot. "Anything else?"

"Candy wrappers, takeout containers, trash, some beer bottles…" Steve picked up a notebook from the floor and flipped through the entries. "Here's the trucks and license plates Jimmy told you about."

Danny was on the stairs inside the building now. "Anything interesting?" he panted as he took them two at a time.

"Not at first glance. We'll give it to Charlie." Steve frowned as he heard Danny's breathing slow to a labored wheeze. "You can slow down, D; there's no rush."

For a moment, the only sound was Danny's raspy inhaling and exhaling over the mic. Then he heard a slight puff and his partner finally spoke. "Freakin' cough."

Steve looked up as Danny entered the room and saw him slip the inhaler back into his pocket. "Do we need to leave?"

"Leave? Why? We just got here."

Steve looked pointedly at the bulge in Danny's pocket. "You need a hospital?"

"Right this very minute? No. Yesterday afternoon- yes. Today, right after lunch, yes. But I'll live until then. It can wait." Doctor's orders or no, Danny was loathe to leave the newly-discovered crime scene without looking around first. What difference would another hour make?

Steve pressed his mouth together doubtfully but decided not to press the point. "You see anyone leave the building on your way over?"

"Not a soul," Danny shook his head. He took in the room with a quick glance. "Trashy place. What's with the smell?"

"Probably this," Steve nudged a plastic bottle of yellow liquid with his booted toe.

Danny wrinkled his nose. "One of the many reasons I am happy to be a detective and not the tech who will have to go through all this crap," he said. Scooping up the binoculars, he moved to the window. "Any idea which building they were surveilling?"

"Nope." Steve flipped to the front of the log book. "But they just started watching it a few days ago. The first entry is dated Tuesday."

"Maybe there's another log book from earlier," Danny suggested as he studied the buildings across the street.

Steve rummaged through the pile of debris on the crates. "Don't see another one."

"Huh." Danny fiddled with the focus knob on the binoculars. "Steve? What's 'spuhwar'?"

"What?"

"Spawr. Spawar. Spavahr?"

"What the heck are you looking at?"

Danny passed him the binoculars and pointed. "Second building to the right. No sign at the gate, but there's a little placard on that truck that just pulled up."

Steve put them up to his eyes and squinted. "That's SPAWAR, Danny."

"Which is…?"

"It's a Space and Naval Warfare facility," Steve replied tightly.

Danny only latched onto one part of what he said. "Hang on, space warfare? _Space_ warfare?" He turned incredulously back and forth between the window and his partner. "What does that even mean? Star Wars and storm troopers?"

Steve smoothed his features and gave his partner a blank stare. "It's classified, Danny."

"Seriously?" the shorter man huffed. He puffed out his cheeks in frustration, put his hands on his hips and shook his head in annoyance. "You can _not_ use that as a Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free card every time something comes up." Danny had given Steve a pass yesterday, mostly out of necessity considering the governor's phone call and mention of SecNav, but those details didn't make Danny any happier about it. "I think I deserve an explanation this time."

"And I can't give you one."

"Why not?"

"Because," Steve ground out, "it's worth more than just my job."

"Is this related to the Thing yesterday?" Danny guessed. "The Thing you can't talk about where you disappeared for hours? That Thing?"

"Yeah. Maybe. Possibly. I need to make some phone calls," he replied shortly, his phone already in his hand as he scrolled through his contacts for the number Colonel Thule had given him.

"Let me guess- the classified kind of phone calls." Danny sighed. "You don't have to tell me- I'm going. You have fun with that. I'll meet you at the car."

…

 _20 minutes later:_

"So that's it? We're just leaving?"

"Yeah. Why?" Steve put the car in reverse, turned in a neat semicircle, and pulled away from the wharf.

"Um…" Danny watched the building recede in the rearview mirror. "What about all the evidence back there? There are procedures, a certain protocol that must be followed, evidence that needs to be bagged and tagged… If we leave, that could derail our ability to use the evidence in court later." Danny knew his partner wasn't much for rules and procedures, but he thought this was a bit unusual even for the ex-SEAL.

"I don't think that evidence is going to make it to court," Steve countered.

"And why not, exactly?" Danny stopped and twisted in his seat as a string of dark SUVs turned into the wharf behind them. "Oh. Is that why? Are they Men in Black or something?"

Steve shrugged.

"Right. It's classified." The Jersey detective sat back with a disgruntled snort. "Why do I even bother asking?"

…

"Well, I've found your unicorn." A short rap on Steve's door preceded this statement and the Five-0 commander looked up to see his technical consultant gesturing excitedly toward the large screen in the bullpen.

"Really?" Doubtful, Steve nevertheless set aside his half-finished report to follow the larger man to the computer. Danny had run out to grab lunch for them (with Steve's firm promise that he would go with Danny to the doctor as soon as they were done eating), leaving just Jerry and Steve behind in the office. "What do you have?"

"Okay, so you know HPD set up a tip line, right?"

Steve nodded. "Sure, but half the island thinks this whole unicorn thing is a joke, so most of the 'tips' are just prank calls." The reaction was to be expected after the news outlets had run the tagline, _Have you seen this unicorn?_ with their 6-o-clock news.

" _Most_ does not equal _all_ ," Jerry said sagely. "I wrote a program to analyze the tips coming in, added the numbers they were coming from, and cross reference location data and time of each call. Calls made from out of state numbers or places where a unicorn sighting would be less likely, like North Shore, were disregarded."

"Okay…" Steve watched as dots appeared on the screen denoting the tips that had been called in so far.

"Then I looked at time data: the horse probably won't move 23 miles in one hour, so I looked for clusters of calls from similar locations at similar times."

"And you narrowed it down to…?"

"Here." Jerry hovered the mouse over the southeastern tip of the island, a seasonally-dry area that was currently still green and lush with the winter rains. "Our pony has been moving south east over the past several days and should be somewhere in this valley near the botanical gardens."

"You're sure? This is a big island, Jerry."

"I'm sure. Well, 96% sure. Because the program is 96% sure."

Steve was impressed. "Great work, Jer," he clapped the man on the shoulder as Jerry beamed at the praise. "Tell Danny when he gets back. Have him call me."

"You don't want to wait for him?"

"I don't want somebody else to get to the horse first," Steve replied and he hurried out the door.

…

 _Over an hour later…_

Danny was waiting when the phone rang. He'd been waiting patiently at first for Steve to return his call, then impatiently as the minutes dragged on. He'd consumed his sandwich, downed the soda, chips, and cookie, and then had eaten Steve's bag of chips and cookie as well. ( _He won't mind,_ Danny told himself. _He'd just say they were unhealthy and let me have them anyway_.) He didn't touch Steve's arugula-and-something sandwich. The man could keep _that_ for himself.

The area where his partner had gone was notorious for poor service; being located on the wrong side of Koko Head crater meant it was far away from the cell towers that serviced downtown Honolulu and was a sparsely-populated, cactus-infested grassland. Danny knew it would be pointless to head down there without knowing where, exactly, Steve was, so he stayed at the office, refreshing his inbox, playing on his tablet, and sorting old paperwork, while he waited for the phone to ring.

But when it did ring, it wasn't Steve.

"Hey Duke," Danny greeted, propping the phone against his ear.

"Danny, I thought you'd want to hear it from me, first."

"Hear what?"

"Your partner just popped up on the traffic cams on Kapiolani. He and that unicorn just blew through 3 red lights in a row."

"He what?!" Danny palmed his forehead with one hand as he felt a distinctly McGarrett-sized headache coming on. "What the heck is he doing?"

"I don't know, but there's more: he's being followed. The last 911 caller reported 'a crazy man on a white horse and a car full of gun-shooting hooligans right behind him.'"

Danny groaned. "That sounds like him- in trouble and thinking outside the box. Any idea where he's going?"

"Looks like he's headed straight for the Palace. I've sent you a snapshot of the last red light, but you should be able to pull the live data in your office."

"At least no one can doubt the existence of the unicorn now," Danny mused as he gestured for Jerry to move so he could use the smart table. "Where is he now?"

"I don't know. We lost him at Kuilei. I'll let you know when we have him again."

"Okay. Thanks, Duke." Hanging up, Danny turned to Jerry. "We need to find Steve."

…

But even with the help of traffic cams and satellite imagery, finding Steve was easier said than done. After retracing Steve's steps down Kapiolani to Kuilei, Danny was at a loss when he failed to appear on any other lights or cameras in the vicinity. As far as he and Jerry could tell, both SEAL and horse- and car of 'hooligans'- had disappeared. After nearly twenty minutes of searching (by which time Steve should have made it to HPD or the Five-0 building), Danny gave up and turned away from the table with a sigh.

"Jerry- did you drive here today?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I'm thinking maybe we should go find SuperSEAL ourselves. Want to take a spin around the block with me?" Steve had taken Danny's car and presumably ditched it where he found the horse, leaving the detective without a ride.

"Sure."

As they headed downstairs and outside into the late afternoon sunshine, Danny belatedly realized that he wasn't going to make it to the doctor today. The thought didn't really surprise him and he realized that he hadn't actually expected to make it, which was just sad. And he was only slightly angry with his perpetually-absent partner and failed chauffeur for being the cause of his second- or was it third?- missed appointment. But then those musings were quickly shoved aside as he climbed into the passenger seat and turned his attention to the far more important task at hand: finding his partner.

…

Steve, it seemed, did not want to be found. He was not on Kapiolani nor Kuilei nor any of the surrounding streets, and Danny didn't hear any of the gunfire that he expected to hear after Duke's report about 'gun-toting hooligans.' For all that he and Jerry could tell, Steve and the horse had simply disappeared.

Disappointed and worried, the pair returned to the office.

"What. the. heck?" Danny stopped just inside the double glass doors.

"Hey, Danny." His partner, out of breath and drenched in dirt and sweat, stood in the office with a large bucket of water from the janitor's closet… and a horse. "Meet Lilith," Steve said, placing the bucket under the horse's nose.

"You brought it _here_? What were you thinking?"

"First, it's a _she_ , not an _it_ ," Steve thrust a finger at Danny, "and second," he held up two fingers, " _she_ was in danger. _I_ was in danger. Do you want us to go back outside where the crazy guys with the guns are?"

"What crazy guys with guns? Jerry and I were just out there- there are no crazy people, no guns, no shooting- ergo, no danger!"

"They didn't just disappear, Danny. They'll be waiting for us. We can't just go back out there."

"You- no. The horse- yes. Horses are animals, Steven. Animals belong outside. You are human. Humans belong inside."

"The horse stays." Glaring, Steve folded his arms and straightened into his tallest, most intimidating stance. "The horse stays and that's final."

"Hello, gentlemen," a new voice broke in. "Am I interrupting something?"

…

"Governor." Steve started at the sudden appearance of the head of Hawaii in his office.

"Great, just great," Danny muttered under his breath.

Steve shushed him with a short kick to his leg. "Hello, sir. I can explain…"

"About running the red lights, or the horse in your office?" Denning held up a hand to forestall any comment. "I didn't realize I was paying Five-0 to stable horses," and he gently patted the animal's neck and rubbed her nose. "I assume there is a _very_ good explanation for this?"

"Yes, sir," Steve began with a warning look at Danny. "And we were just about to call animal control."

"But you don't have time to take any of my calls?"

"Your calls?" Steve was at a loss now. "Sir, I don't have any missed calls from you," and to confirm, he took out his phone and pulled up the call log.

"Really? Because I've called you five times in the past hour."

It was Jerry who noticed what the others missed. "Um, guys? We don't have any service." He held up his own device as an example. "No bars."

Years of experience and a sudden, unsettled feeling in his stomach caused Danny to reach for the nearest desk phone. He set it down almost immediately with a troubled frown. "Landlines are down, too."

Steve tensed and in a fraction of a second subtly shifted into navy mode. "Danny, take the governor and get to safety," he said, looping an arm around Denning and forcibly guiding him toward the door. "Once you're out, call this number," and he pushed a sticky note into Danny's hand. "Tell them that you're my partner and it's an emergency."

Nonplussed, Danny followed his partner toward the hallway. "What's going on?"

Steve had already drawn his gun and scanned the area outside the glass doors as he not-so-gently shoved the governor into the hall. "Danny, any minute now, some very bad guys are going to raid this building and come looking for the horse."

"What kind of bad guys? Shouldn't we be using vests?"

With his weapon, Steve gestured at the far end of the hall where a faint stream of smoke slithered under one of the doors. "They're using fire as a distraction. You go out in tac gear, you'll draw their attention. The alarm will go off any second now and everyone else will think it's a fire drill- just go along with it and you should be fine."

" _Should_ being the operative word," Danny muttered, but he stuffed the sticky note in his pocket and obediently holstered his gun. "Who are these guys and what do they want?"

"Classified," Steve replied tersely. He donned a tac vest and began loading his weapons.

"Can you tell me anything?"

"Yeah. Don't talk to the firemen."

"Why not?"

"They'll probably shoot you," Steve said frankly. He stiffened and Danny jumped slightly as the fire alarms finally blared. A soft _hiss_ indicated the doors and vents had now sealed to protect the office from any fumes through the air ducts. Propping open the main door, Steve scanned the hallway in both directions. "Clear. Go Danny. Go now."

"What about you?"

"I'm staying with the horse."

"What?" Danny stopped in the middle of the hall, danger be damned. "It's a freaking horse, Steven! There's nothing special about it. Come on!"

But to his surprise, Steve shook his head and withdrew behind the double glass doors, locking them behind him. " _Go_ ," he mouthed to Danny as he began to stuff a towel around the edges of the door to block the impending smoke. " _Go now_."

So Danny went.

 **A/N: Wrapping up- only a few chapters left! Although at my one-per-week rate, it's still going to be a while before the epilogue is posted. Thanks for sticking with it! Yall are awesome! I'm not super happy with this chapter, though. I think the last bit feels rushed, but maybe that's just me?**


	20. Chapter 20- Under Siege

**A/N: Short chapter, sorry. Thanks for reviews and follows! Y'all are awesome!**

 **A/N: Warning: contains whump**

Leaving Steve behind was quite possibly one of the hardest things Danny had ever done. Not hard like his move to Hawaii and the prolonged custody fight with Rachel- that was a different kind of hard. And not hard like the insanely long hike he and Steve had taken last year on Maui. No, this was hard like giving Grace the keys to the car and watching her drive away with the knowledge that she was mature and old enough to make good decisions, but being left with the lingering worry that some maniac on the highway would kill her anyway.

Danny was not worried about Steve; Danny was worried about the others in the building, the terrorists or black ops team or whoever they were, and what they might do to Steve. Still, he understood teamwork and responsibility and he knew Five-0 had a responsibility to get the governor out safely. Steve, as his boss, had kindly delegated that task to him, and the likelihood of him fulfilling that duty diminished with each second that he delayed, so when Steve locked the door, Danny knew the time had come. Pushing the governor ahead of him, he covered his mouth with one arm and tried not to breathe as they reached the smoke-clogged staircase leading down to the lobby.

The first fire trucks pulled into the lot as Danny stumbled out the front doors and into the parking lot, coughing as he tried to beat the acrid smoke out of his clothes. The lobby had been full of the foul-smelling stuff, and his throat burned and eyes watered as he doubled over on the front steps and tried to catch his breath. Behind him, firemen rushed into the building as the rest of the occupants ran in the other direction toward the fresh air of the lawn. Danny tried to follow, but his body, rebelling against the abuse to his lungs, doubled over, leaving him gasping for breath.

Vaguely, he heard the governor saying something, but Danny wasn't able to respond. Reduced to a raspy wheeze, he coughed and choked as someone grasped him under the arm and led away from the building. There, in a clear area under a tree, he finally tasted air that wasn't tainted with whatever the heck was burning inside.

"Detective?"

Danny thrust a hand out and fumbled in his pocket until his fingers finally closed over the inhaler. Pushing it into his mouth, he took a deep breath.

"Any better?" The governor, still holding his arm as though Danny might fall over any minute, peered into the detective's red eyes with concern. "I didn't know you suffered from asthma."

"I… don't…" Danny panted. "Just… temporary."

"Is there something I should know?" Denning asked.

"Chinese mobsters," was all Danny said.

"Uh huh. I look forward to reading that report," the governor said drily. "But you don't sound too good, detective. Why don't you go get checked out? Ambulances just arrived." He pulled gently in the direction of the nearest bus where the EMTs were already helping the first victims of smoke inhalation.

"I'm fine," Danny said shortly. It was bad enough that the man he was supposed to be protecting was instead protecting him. "Sir, where's your security detail?"

"My driver is over there," Denning pointed to a black SUV parked under a grove of banyan trees at the edge of the lot.

"Okay, good." Feeling well enough to walk and shoot straight, Danny finally straightened up and checked his weapon. The sooner Denning was safe, the sooner he could start working to rescue Steve. "Let's go."

…

"Detective Williams?"

Breaking away from the television screen at the command post, Danny turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered man with short-cropped hair escorted by a young HPD officer. "That's me," he replied sticking out his hand. "Who are you?"

"Colonel Thule, US Army Cyber Division. I received your message and came as soon as I could."

Danny sized him up. "I'm guessing that you two met during his little adventure over the barbed wire yesterday?" he guessed and the man nodded. Danny gestured at the Palace across the lawn on the other side of the police-tape perimeter. "He's still in there. Said some elite military group disguised as firefighters are after him and that you would understand whatever the heck that meant."

The colonel frowned. "Unfortunately, yes. I've also heard there have been gunshots from the second floor. Have you had any contact with him?"

Danny chewed his bottom lip and frowned in concern. "Not since I left the building."

"Did he give you anything?"

Danny gave the man a quizzical look. "No. Was he supposed to?"

The man shrugged.

…

The smoke in the hallway rapidly thickened into a heavy, white screen, but the rubber seal around the office doors held and Steve only caught a whiff now and then of the stinging gas. From the smell, he guessed the attackers mixed tear gas with what seemed to be smoke grenades and possibly a trashcan fire or two. The 'fire', a ruse to allow access to the building, posed no danger to him, so he deliberately took time in his preparations, knowing that his actions in the next few minutes just might save his life.

First, his own equipment. He checked his body armor was strapped on securely, donned a gas mask, and loaded his pockets with an assortment of weapons and miscellaneous items that Danny would heartily disapprove of. Then he turned his attention to the horse. Nervous and sensing the as-yet-unseen danger, she skittered away from him before finally allowing him to stroke her neck and run his fingers through her mane. He needed a safe place for her and quickly decided that the break room would be the best location under the circumstances. As best as he could, he guided her into her new home and barricaded the doorway with a large table.

He failed to notice dark shapes gathering in the hallway outside, their images masked to a dark grey by the heavy smoke. Hearing a slight noise, he turned around as a black canister was chucked through the through and bounced across the floor toward him.

Steve barely had time to register what it was.

The next moment, his world exploded in a blinding flash of light and a deafening bang.

…

Danny winced and ducked his head as an ear-shattering blast suddenly blew out several windows on the second floor of the building. Peering cautiously above the hood of the truck, he watched as firefighters began to run out of the building and streamed across the lawn toward the emergency vehicles.

"This 'thing' that the terrorists want," he asked slowly, "how important is it?"

The colonel pressed his lips together grimly. "Detective, let me put it this way: the 'thing' has the potential to change this nation in some very bad ways. The consequences of it falling into the wrong hands would be severe. Life here, as you know it, would likely never be the same."

"That bad huh?" Danny glanced around at the SWAT team that had arrived and were setting up just inside the perimeter on the Palace grounds. "What are the chances Steve is still alive in there?"

"Very good," Colonel Thule replied, much to Danny's surprise. "They'll want to torture him for the location of the item, so they need him alive until either he breaks or they find it."

"That's not really comforting."

"Yes, well, hopefully he's hidden it well. If we're lucky, he can buy himself enough time for us to get inside and rescue him before they kill him."

"Yeah, that's not exactly helping," Danny muttered.

…

Steve fell to the ground as the horse reared in terror. Blinded and temporarily paralyzed by the noise, he yelled in pain and surprised when the horse kicked him in the thigh before bolting to another part of the office. Rolling over, he reached instinctively for his sidearm, but it wasn't there- it had somehow come loose and slid and across the floor. Unable to see and barely able to hear, he tried to crawl in the direction of his office, but he had barely pulled himself forward a few feet when a pair of black combat boots appeared in front of him.

"…?"

Steve shook his head groggily. A high-pitched ringing filled his ears and he couldn't make out what was being asked. Someone ripped the gas mask from his face and he immediately coughed as the potent tear gas stung his lungs.

"...!" the voice demanded again.

Steve clenched his hands, preparing for a fight. As he braced himself to jump up, something solid connecting with his back and he fell forward with a grunt.

A boot slipped under his ribs and flipped him onto his back. Steve lay still on the floor, hands raised as he squinted at the men surrounding him.

How many were there? Steve tried to reconcile the doubled shapes that flickered through his hazy vision. Someone seized him by the vest and pulled him to his feet, but his right leg suddenly wouldn't take his weight. Gasping, Steve shifted to his left and squinted at the closest dark shape hovering before him.

The man had discarded his fireman's jacket but the gas mask remained. Black, curly hair sprouted around the mask and a dark tattoo crawled up his neck. Steve squinted, trying to make out the design, but his eyes wouldn't quite focus. Russian, Steve guessed, but who? Mafia or military?

The men had brought the smoke with them when they entered, and a thick haze began to collect on the floor near the unsealed door. It wasn't bad, yet, but Steve's eyes itched unpleasantly and he felt a sudden urge to cough.

The man in front of him tapped his face. Steve realized he had missed a question. "What?" he asked hoarsely. His voice sounded strangely muffled in his own ears.

"Where is it?" the man asked in a heavily-accented voice.

"Where is what?" Steve squinted at the blurry man.

A sharp blow caught his right cheek. It stung, but Steve knew it was barely a tap to what would follow. "The USB drive," the man growled. Grasping Steve's face tightly in his gloved hand, he gave it a little shake, a not-so-subtle warning. "Where is the USB drive?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

The next blow landed on his lower ribs, knocking the air from his lungs. The two men behind Steve caught him as he stumbled, and he hung limply for a moment before convincing his body to right itself. In front of him, the leader paced grimly.

"You don't know?"

"No."

"If you don't know what it is, then I have no more use for you."

A gun was cocked and pressed against his temple. Steve flinched as the cold metal touched his skin.

"Last chance: do you know where the thumb drive is?" the man asked again.

"No."

The man fired.

…

 _… potentially dangerous situation at Iolani Palace this afternoon. Reports of gunfire have come in from the south side of the building with witnesses saying the shots seem to be coming from the second floor. Firefighters have pulled back from the building and are now attempting to put out the fire from the outside with hoses while they wait for SWAT to arrive and assess the situation. Their concern? That ammunition inside the Five-0 headquarters may be affected by the heat of the flames…_

Danny pulled himself away from the screen as the camera pulled back for another wide-angled shot of the Palace with smoke pouring from the broken windows. Of the hundreds of people gathered on the lawn and the grass outside, he guessed that only a handful knew the actual situation and the true danger that awaited anyone who entered. He might not be 'read in' on the entire situation, but he at least knew part of it.

The colonel appeared to be busy with preparations of his own, which Danny hoped would result in action sooner rather than later, but so far no such luck. His own offers to help had been met with cold denial and an order to go check in with the governor instead. Danny wasn't in the army, so he knew the man had no authority over him, but he figured he could use the opportunity to reconnoiter and took his time wandering across the grounds to the governor's motorcade.

The colonel, acutely aware of the risk of civilian casualties, had convinced HPD to extend the perimeter around the building, but in Danny's mind, the increased radius wasn't nearly enough. Photo-hungry tourists crowded against the yellow tape and an array of news and camera vans gathered in the barricaded street, all potential victims of the terrorists inside.

He'd quietly suggested that the ruse of a gas leak be used to pull everyone back another block and he could only hope that Thule was humble enough to accept his advice.

"… _but probably not_ ," he muttered. " _Too proud to admit a civilian could do something useful_." Men like Thule rubbed Danny the wrong way, but experience with Steve had taught him that all men could change. The obnoxious, self-centered, know-it-all SEAL had mellowed and matured- slightly- over the years, and Danny wouldn't trade their friendship for the world.

"You better be alive in there, SuperSEAL," he growled under his breath. "Don't die on me yet."


	21. Chapter 21- Meeting the Russians

**A/N: The Russian isn't meant to be accurate; just a representation of what it might sound like through Steve's somewhat-off hearing.**

 **A/N: Also, contains whump.**

Steve jerked as the gun went off, wincing as the blast roared painfully in his sensitive ears. Behind his eyes, an angry headache, now exacerbated, pounded against his skull. He swayed, his sense of balance disrupted, but miraculously remained upright. Blinking in surprise, he realized the man had turned away the gun at the last second and the bullet had struck the black granite floor near his feet.

Discarding the mask, the Russian grabbed Steve's face again, his dark eyes flickering back and forth as he studied the SEAL intently. "You are in luck," the man finally scowled. "I think you know exactly what I am looking for, and I think you know exactly where it is."

Steve shook his head. "I don't know."

The man struck him hard, his fist cutting Steve's cheek across his teeth. "Where is it?"

Steve winced and sucked the blood from his mouth, spitting it onto the floor. "Still don't know," he mumbled through swelling lips.

The man struck again, this time in the stomach, and Steve felt the air rush from his lungs. He lurched forward, held upright only by the men holding him.

"Well?" The Russian lifted his head by Steve's hair and lightly slapped his already-bruised cheek. "Where is it?"

Steve winced. "Supposed to be… on the horse," he wheezed out, finally giving in to the urge to cough. In his periphery, he saw someone approaching with the infamous animal.

"My men have searched the horse. It's not there."

 _Already? Shit_. "Maybe… maybe it's inside the horse," he offered, trying to buy time.

But the man's frown only deepened. Shouting something in Russian, he gestured at the glass doors and then at the horse. The men holding Steve lifted him and propelled him bodily forward as he tried to hobble along on his left leg.

"I'll give you a few minutes to rethink your answer," the man called after them.

The stinging intensified and the burning sensation filled Steve's nostrils as they approached the clouded hallway, but he was powerless to fight the men off. Just before the doors were opened, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

The next moment, he was thrown into the smoke. Eyes clenched tight, he fell to the floor and lay there, trying not to move or breathe.

But he couldn't hold his breath forever.

…

Danny wandered across the grass and under the trees, dodging in and out of the yellow tape before he finally found the colonel again. _Steve's annoying little friend_ , Danny nicknamed him in his head. He'd thought of other words for the man, but they would require putting all his money in Grace's Swear Jar.

Danny had checked on Jerry and the governor, per Thule's instructions, and having obtained an official release from his protective duties, he now returned to see what happened next. "So." Danny rubbed his hands together and looked around what was apparently the military's command post on the perimeter. "What's the plan?"

"The plan is for you to stay here and protect the governor."

"What, while you storm the building and get my partner out?" Danny snorted. "Not going to happen."

"You _were_ assigned to protect him, or?" the colonel asked with a raised eyebrow.

"My job was to get him out of the building. He's with his own people now," Danny said and gestured to another part of the lawn where a cluster of dark suits had gathered around the governor's motorcade.

"What about your friend? The larger man, with the curly hair?"

"Jerry? He's fine." He wasn't fine, actually- the 'special consultant' was panicked about losing precious data stored on the hard drives in his basement office and had begged a laptop off an officer in the HPD van in order to try to log in remotely. Unable to stand Jerry's jittery nervousness but also satisfied that he was occupied and out of the way, Danny had left him to it. "I want in on whatever you're planning."

"Not going to happen, Detective."

"Steve is my partner, colonel. Don't you army types say 'no man left behind' and all that?"

"Didn't realize you were in the army, Mr. Williams."

Danny flushed at the subtle blow. "It's Detective Williams."

"Look, Detective- I've seen the footage from the parking lot. I saw you come out of the building and almost fall over coughing. You clearly don't have a high tolerance for smoke and tear gas, and that makes you a liability, not an asset, on any op we conduct here today."

"Fine." Technically, Danny's troubles with the tear gas were Thule's fault, but he had no desire to nitpick the details at this point. "I'll just go in by myself."

"Then I'll have you detained."

Danny stopped as he saw two burly MPs suddenly stand up beside the colonel. "Seriously?"

"Detective, you may not believe this, but we are doing everything that we can do to rescue the Commander, as fast as we can do it. Trust me: I have a plan to rescue your friend. And I _will_ tell you what that plan is. But if you run in there right now, you will be signing Commander McGarrett's death sentence and likely your own."

Danny swallowed.

"Take a seat in there," Colonel Thule continued, gesturing to a surveillance van that had pulled up a few minutes ago. "You can watch everything from in there. I'll be back in a few minutes."

…

How much time had passed? Five minutes? Ten? Maybe it was only two. All Steve knew was that he couldn't breathe and he was in absolute agony. He had experienced tear gas before, mostly during training exercises. In one scenario, he and a group of other young recruits had been ushered into a concrete block building where they had removed their masks and chanted their names, serial numbers, and some other miscellaneous information together. It had burned like hell then and he had emerged with the rest, coughing and spitting and hacking, running for the showers as he tried to beat the stuff out of his clothes.

There hadn't even been much gas in the room. The mist was barely discernable.

Now, curled in a fetal position on the cold floor outside the Five-0 offices, Steve tried to call on every ounce of training he had received. His lungs ached from coughing, snot ran freely from his nose, and red-eyed tears streamed down his face. His throat burned from vomit, one of the many unpleasant side effects of the intense coughing. He ducked his head into his shirt to block some of the fumes, but too much had already been absorbed by his clothes. His guards stood over him, taking turns kicking him when he rolled too far in either direction.

Steve wanted to attack, but he could barely get enough oxygen to stay conscious, much less pick himself up and take on his two heavily-armed guards. He wheezed, trying to calm his panicked gasps, but inhaled snot instead. Immediately, he choked, heaved, and vomited the rest of his lunch down the front of his tac vest, dripping onto the floor.

Steve rolled away from the mess and tried to push himself onto his knees. One of the soldiers kicked him and he fell sideways, unwillingly landing on his damaged right leg. As he gasped in pain, the doors opened and the leader returned.

" _On yeshche tebe skazal?_ " His voice was muffled through the gas mask.

" _Nyet_."

A heavy boot tapped Steve's face. "Where is the thumb drive?" the man asked.

Unable to respond, Steve simply shook his head.

"WHERE IS IT?" the man demanded.

Choking on the gas, Steve tried to gesture as he shook his head again.

The man said something else that Steve couldn't quite hear. Then Steve was grasped under the arms and pulled down the hallway toward the stairs. He made no attempt to help but allowed himself to be dragged forward by the soldiers who heaved his limp form down the darkened stairwell, his right leg protesting every bump and jolt.

He didn't even have the energy to be disgusted with himself as he alternatively hacked and dry heaved, his head hanging forward, leaving a trail of saliva and bile dripping from his chin and clothes. All he could do inhale, exhale, and stay conscious.

" _Tam, tam_."

A door opened and Steve was pushed into the locker room and shoved into one of the showers. Cold water burst from the shower head and Steve lifted his face into the spray. Blinking, he coughed violently as the gas was expelled from his lungs.

"Good, good. Get it all out." The leader stood just beyond the water, watching. "Nice, deep breaths."

Steve ignored him and simply turned in a slow circle until his clothes were thoroughly soaked, allowing the gas and any other chemicals to wash away. He was disappointed when a heavy arm reached in front of him and seized the knob, turning the water off.

The leader had discarded his fireman's disguise and was clothed entirely in black tactical gear that Steve recognized as being distinctly Russian. "You may call be Sergei," he said. "What is your name?"

Steve didn't reply.

"What- is- your- name?" Sergei, repeated.

Steve sucked up a wad of phlegm and spat it on the tiled floor in response.

Immediately, one of the soldiers struck him in the side with the butt of his rifle. Steve stumbled, falling against the shower wall.

Motioning the soldier back, Sergei stepped into the shower with him. "I do not have much time, so do not anger me. You know where the thumb drive is."

"Not… going to… tell you," Steve managed and braced for the next blow. He was surprised when Sergei chuckled softly.

"Undress."

Steve blinked, unsure he'd heard properly. "What?"

"Undress," Sergei repeated, gesturing to his clothing.

"No thanks." Steve didn't need any training to hear the threat behind his words. "I'm fine," he insisted.

Sergei made a derisive noise in the back of his throat. "I wasn't asking." Calling two of his men, they pulled Steve out, quickly stripped him down to his boxers, and cuffed his hands behind him. As the flipped him over, the large bruise on Steve's thigh stood out harshly.

"Eeh!" Sergei murmured in sympathy. "The horse did this?"

Steve made no response.

Sergei prodded it, not very gently.

Steve hissed.

The other man smiled. "I think it hurts, no? But it is not broken. Not yet." Giving a signal, he stood back and Steve was thrown into the shower and the water turned on once more.

 _Not yet_. The words hung heavily over Steve as he knelt on the tiled floor under the spray. As the water washed the final trace of chemicals away, his breaths had gradually calmed and the intense hacking subsided to a manageable cough, but his relief was short-lived.

One of the soldiers, apparently returning from the break room upstirs, appeared with a large bucket and dumped several gallons of ice and water over Steve's head.

Steve gasped, ducking as the chunks of rough ice crashed over his naked back and scattered across the floor. Jaw tightening, he forced away a shiver and tried to push the mass of ice toward the drain. Instead, he found himself suddenly facedown on the floor, his head pressed into the frigid slush as a heavy knee ground into his back.

" _Nyet!_ " the man growled at him. Someone else wadded up a towel and covered the drain, and the icy water pooled between the tile walls. "You tell Sergei where thumb drive is," the man said in broken English and gave Steve a rough shake.

"Not gonna happen," Steve grunted. He twisted his head, struggling to keep his mouth out of the rapidly-collecting water.

"Tell where the horse is!"

Steve made no response.

Sergei seemed not to notice the exchange. His attention was otherwise occupied with Steve's clothes, which he padded through with discernable interest. Discarding the Five-0 commander's weapons, he now pulled Steve's wallet from one pocket of the cargo pants and began rifling through the cards.

"Lieutenant Commander Steven McGarrett," he read slowly off one of the cards.

Steve ignored him and focused on breathing as the man on top of him bore down with his full weight. A slight movement to alleviate his discomfort was met with a sharp dig in his side by the man's boot and elicited a pained grunt from his captive. Steve stilled.

"Navy reserve." Sergei flipped through the wallet items, discarding those of lesser interest on the floor. "Head of Five-0 Task Force."

Steve blinked away the small spots that appeared in his vision. Water trickled into his open mouth as he panted for air, and rippled out again with every exhale.

"US Navy SEAL."

Steve turned his head slightly, just enough to see Sergei in his periphery. Sergei was studying him closely, his eyes alight with dangerous interest, and a low chuckle escaped his throat as he tossed both the wallet and cards to one side. Gesturing for the water to be turned off, he stepped into the shower with Steve and stood over him.

"A Navy SEAL, running a police task force," he leered. "I knew you were something more than the average, fat American detective, but a SEAL?" He gave Steve's injured leg a deliberate nudge. "Where is the USB drive?"

"I don't… I don't know what that is," Steve wheezed.

"I think you do." Sergei walked around him slowly, relishing his prisoner's helplessness and the uncomfortably close confines of the tiled walls. "You are Navy SEAL. This is no coincidence that you are here, today, with this horse. Where is the drive?"

"I don't know." Steve expected to be beaten at this point, but the blows did not come. Instead, Sergei circled again, nudging him repeatedly with his feet. Stopping by Steve's head, he planted one boot on Steve's cheek, pressing his face against the floor. In his periphery, Steve saw the soldier on top of him grinning. He was playing with him, Steve realized, prodding, looking for weaknesses. The cat with its mouse. Sergei pressed harder and Steve closed his eyes under the mounting pressure.

"Where is it?"

"I… don't… know…" Each word hurt to speak. He inhaled with great effort as he struggled to lift the man on top of him. "Don't know… what… it is."

"You don't know, you don't know…" Sergei lifted his foot and crouched next to him, his face inches above Steve's own. "You are a very bad liar," he hissed. "Why is there a horse in your office?"

Steve made no response.

Sergei pulled out a knife. "I am running out of patience." He dragged the blade slowly along Steve's cheek. A thin line of blood welled along the cut. "Tell me where the drive is, and I promise your death will be quick and painless."

Steve winced, blinking as some of the blood trickled into his eyes. The man's breath was hot and sour as he breathed in Steve's face, his knife pricking as it travelled down to Steve's chin.

"Well?"

"N… no."

"No?" Sergei's mouth twitched unpleasantly when Steve confirmed his answer with the slightest shake of his head. Standing, he motioned to the man on top of Steve. The soldier immediately stood and yanked Steve to his feet. A sudden, sharp blow to Steve's midsection caused him to double over, gasping. The soldier pulled him upright and held him tightly in place as several more blows were delivered in quick succession. Then Sergei seized his neck, smacking his head against the wall.

"WHERE IS THE DRIVE?" he demanded, giving Steve a rough shake as his hand closed over Steve's throat.

Steve wheezed, struggling for air.

"WHERE. IS. IT?" Sergei squeezed tighter.

Black spots appeared in Steve's vision. "Can't… tell you… if…" but Steve couldn't finish. _'if you kill me_ ,' was left unsaid.

…

A 'few' minutes had come and gone and Danny was tired of waiting. Steve could be dead by now, or bleeding out, or being tortured, or … but Danny didn't want to think about the _or_. Sitting in the back of the van and eyeing the monitors, he heaved a weary sigh and checked his watch. The 'few' minutes had turned into fifteen and were now approaching twenty, but the colonel had yet to reappear. There was very little of interest to see on the various screens at the moment- just the same smoky view of the Palace and a few body cams from snipers around the perimeter. No movement had been seen or heard inside the Palace since the firemen exited, and calls over the bullhorn had gone unanswered.

The wait was long and tedious and Danny hated absolutely every minute of it. If this was how Steve felt on a regular basis with 'normal' police work, then it was no wonder the man was so aggravating. Danny adjusted the gun on his belt out of habit and shifted slightly so that his back rested against a slightly more comfortable part of the metal siding in the truck, directing his attention to a new movement in one of the frames. The lone camera on the left showed a staging area where the SWAT team had arrived and was beginning to suit up.

Danny bit his lip and chuffed an impatient sound. It was taking them much too long to prepare, in his opinion. If Steve were in charge, the raid would have taken place fifteen minutes ago. They would be in and out by now. He watched as the men slowly- or so it seemed to him- donned their protective gear and checked their weapons.

 _Any time now_ , he huffed under his breath. _Just hurry up_. But the tension was too much; he couldn't sit here any longer.

He stood up from his seat. The other man in the truck immediately stood up, too.

Danny stretched.

The other man watched him cautiously.

Danny reached for the door. "Gonna get some fresh air," he said casually and stepped outside. He made sure to stand right in front of the truck's rear surveillance camera.

 _Look at me: I'm being a good boy,_ he thought as he paced back and forth on the grass. _I'm not running off and storming the Palace all by myself like SuperSEAL would have done. I'm doing exactly what the Colonel wants me to do- absolutely nothing._

Of course, with the number of cameras in the area, it didn't matter. The man in the truck- his babysitter- could see him almost anywhere he went. For a while, Danny lounged around the area immediately outside, making small talk with a few officers and watching bystanders milling about near the police tape. He quickly ran out of things to do, however, and soon found himself grasping for a reason to stay outside the truck when the colonel had ordered him, in no uncertain terms, to stay inside.

Then his phone buzzed.

"Hey Monkey!" Danny's face brightened as the excited voice of his daughter filled the earpiece. "How are you?" He swung around and meandered away from the truck, phone clutched to his ear. "No, I'm not at the beach, silly. Why on earth would I be at the beach?... Oh. No, I think that's just the wind. I'm outside at work and it's very windy, but you're right- I would _not_ go surfing without Uncle Steve. … Where is Uncle Steve? He's not really here right now. I mean, he is, but he can't come to the phone." Danny cast a glance at the white stone building across the lawn. "What if I have him call you when he gets a chance?"

Danny looked at the building again and realized with surprise that he had moved nearly 50 yards away from the surveillance van without realizing it. A quick glance at the van's door revealed his young 'babysitter' busily chatting with one of the colonel's lackeys. Danny snorted. Millennials, he chortled silently. Then a plan came to mind.

"So, Gracie- tell me about Vegas. What have you been up to?"

His daughter was more than happy to tell her father about her week away with Charlie and Mommy, and Danny was pleased to hear that, while Step-Stan had been present at least part of the time, he played such a minor role that his name hardly came up at all. While Grace chattered away, Danny roamed the space behind the yellow line, drifting away from the truck, then back slightly, then turning in a circle, stopping, moving again. With each round of seemingly-random movement, however, he ended a few yards closer to his actual target: SWAT. Grover might not be around this week, but Danny knew the guys and they knew him. He could approach the truck without question. He also happened to know that a spare set of armor and gear could be found in the storage locker behind the driver's seat.

Danny made another loop across the grass and gained another few yards on the truck.

He intended to get that gear.

 **A/N: Danny doesn't get to be a hero often enough, which is really a shame. I love the episode where he escapes from the CIA and meets Steve at the helicopter. We need more of** ** _that_** **Danny. Trying to write that without Danny being AU is tricky, though. Enjoy and have a great weekend!**


	22. Chapter 22- Enemy Territory

**A/N: The whump continues for Steve, while Danny works on making his way inside. Be warned that some scenes may be uncomfortable as Steve spends more time with his Russian 'friends.'**

"Detective Williams. What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?"

Danny was surprised it had taken the colonel this long to figure out that he wasn't some poor SWAT recruit who couldn't figure out jurisdiction lines. Now well past the safety perimeter on the Palace lawn and closing fast on the building, he took cover behind a tree at the edge of the lot before answering. "Rescuing my partner, sir."

"Get back here! You're going to get him killed."

"Yeah?" Danny doubted that. He knew the Five-0 building and grounds just as well as he'd known his old stomping ground back in Jersey. Better, probably. He knew the camera angles, the blind spots, the places that neither windows nor cameras could see. He'd mapped his route carefully and was now within spitting distance of his target. Did the Colonel know the Palace that well? Danny doubted it. In fact, he was willing to bet that it was the planning phase of this rescue operation that was taking so long, as the colonel tried to find a way into the building that couldn't be seen by the hostiles inside and would allow them some measure of surprise. _He really should've asked me_ , Danny thought but knew the man would never grovel that low _._

"Detective, did you hear me?" the colonel snapped. "You're going to get your partner killed!"

"You're as much to blame as me. You should've told us what we were up against." Stooping, Danny ran swiftly through the blind spot in the yard and pressed himself up against the building. "I don't know- maybe you read Steve in on everything and he couldn't tell me, but that's not right, either. We're partners; I deserve to know what he knows."

"You don't have the clearance to know what he knows."

"Seriously? Did I ask for Chinese terrorists to kidnap and waterboard me?" Danny hissed furiously into the microphone. "Steve wouldn't be in this position if you had briefed us as a team. I wouldn't have been kidnapped and tortured if you'd told us what we were up against. Instead, you waited until it was too late."

"Detective…"

"If Steve dies, I will make you pay," Danny finished with a growl and switched the mic off. He leaned against the building, breathing heavily. He'd let Thule get to him and cursed silently at his stupidity. If Thule didn't have him arrested after this, it would be a miracle.

Although… Danny could see snipers in the lawn moving into new positions and realized that Thule might have a different plan in mind. Obviously, the colonel wouldn't kill him, but wounding him enough to take him out of the action might be an option. Danny needed to move, and fast.

Reaching up, he peered through the window. The room inside, one of the administrative offices on the ground floor, was empty.

Because the building was old and hadn't been renovated recently, the window panes were held in place with a simple rubber putty. Danny peeled the stuff away with his pocket knife, wiggled the pane of glass out, and unlocked the latch. A moment later, he scrambled over the sill and dropped silently to the floor.

He was in.

…

Sergei squeezed tightly, a grim smile on his lips as Steve struggled for air.

As his vision greyed and the sounds around him faded, Steve lashed out with his feet, finally securing a firm kick to Sergei's groin. The man released him and Steve stumbled backwards, wheezing as he sucked in precious oxygen.

"You should not have done that," Sergei growled. Raising his leg, the Russian smashed his boot into the large, blossoming bruise on Steve's leg. Steve cried out and fell sideways into the shower wall, gasping in pain. Fisting a handful of hair, Sergei pulled him upright into a kneeling position. "You _will_ die today," he snarled in Steve's ear. "Tell me where the drive is."

Steve spat another mix of blood and saliva into the pool of water in the flooded shower stall. "Go to hell."

Sergei barked and another soldier stepped into the cramped space, took Steve's arms, and held him upright as the Russian commander delivered a series of swift and brutal blows to Steve's chest and midsection.

As his body jerked, Steve only grunted and tried to focus on staying conscious. He cried out again as one of the strikes seemed to break a rib, sending a sharp pain through his side. His breaths came in shallow gasps as each inhale ached across his lungs. Sergei continued the assault for several long minutes until Steve's head dropped. Then he finally paused.

"Well?" Sergei jerked Steve's head back, checking that he was still conscious. "Where is the drive?"

Steve tried to inhale deeply and wheezed. His eyes closed as he focused on his breaths.

"Where is the drive?!"

Steve's face was rapidly swelling from the beating, but he cracked open one eye to look at his opponent. "You really think I would betray my country and tell you?"

Sergei's eyes flashed angrily. The man behind Steve suddenly tightened his grip as Sergei's hand flashed forward. The single jab was low and to the right, and its effect was immediate. As Steve cried out, a sudden rush of liquid spilled between his legs and pooled around the clogged shower drain. With a knee in his back, Steve's guard shoved him forward, forcing him face-down in the mess and a heavy, gloved hand held his head in place.

Sergei leaned in. "You should have told me," he said in a low voice. "Now your suffering truly begins."

…

Danny crouched on the floor of the office behind a low cubicle wall and removed the heavy SWAT helmet and some of the bulkier gear but left the gas mask firmly in place. Having achieved access to the building, he no longer felt the need to carry the extra grenades or wear the bulky knee and elbow pads and quickly sat down to pull them off. He was thankful for the musty carpet, which muffled some of the noise as he went about removing his gear and shoving it under the nearest desk.

At the slightest creak above him, he froze, his heart pounding furiously in his chest. Was someone there? Was the noise here, in this room, or the office above him? A prolonged silence finally convinced him that he was in no danger.

 _So this is what it feels like to be SuperSEAL_. Danny wasn't sure he liked the feeling. Alone and isolated behind enemy lines, he felt naked and exposed without his partner nearby. Was this how Steve felt on missions? Danny doubted it. For one, his partner was fearless- too much so, if anyone wanted Danny's opinion- and being alone in dangerous situations didn't seem to bother him one bit. But Steve also had his team when he went away, his equally-fearless group of comrades whom he could trust to have his back during whatever dangerous exploits he carried out in the remote corners of the world. Danny sighed, almost wistfully.

 _Okay… what now?_ The last place Danny had seen his partner had been upstairs, with the horse. He needed to make it up to the office. _What would Steve do?_ An elevator shaft came immediately to mind. _Steve would do something stupid_. _New question: What would Danny do?_

 _Danny would do something smart._

Standing, he rolled his shoulders to relieve some of the tension. Then he made his way to the main hall behind the grand staircase in the lobby. Only two men guarded the lobby doors on this level, although Danny was quite certain that there were more on the balcony upstairs. With their attention focused on the threat outside, it was simple enough to slip behind them and make his way silently down the hall.

It didn't take him long to find the right door. _Security_ read the simple plaque. Danny tried the door, praying it would open since he didn't have his partner's lockpicking skills.

To his surprise, it was unlocked.

And empty.

Danny stepped inside, pulling the door softly closed behind him, and stared at the blank monitors. Static flashed across the screens and several alerts were lit up on a small panel. It took Danny a moment to understand.

They had taken down the surveillance cameras.

 _Duh, Williams_ , he chided himself. _Of course they did._ They wouldn't want anyone watching them after they were in. They had gone to the trouble of cutting their internet and phone lines, so why not security cameras, too?

Danny sighed. So much for his brilliant plan to use the cameras to his own advantage. Was it a simple fix? He looked under the desk and realized many of the wires were simply unplugged. Probably simple, but Danny didn't have time to sort it out. He had more important things to do.

Like find Steve.

…

Steve's initial gasp of surprise at the well-aimed jab turned into a not-quite-silent scream as the pain struck a fraction later. He felt a warm stream trickle down his legs and immediately hunched over in pain, powerless to stop the guard who forced him to lie down in it and pressed his head into the mix until he could barely breathe.

He didn't have the strength to feel embarrassed. His face nearly submerged, he fought for air, sucking in and out desperately from one corner of his mouth while the guard pressed down firmly on his head. The smell was ghastly- blood, urine, and the burning scent of tear gas, all churned together in the hot air of the tiny shower stall.

Steve kicked and floundered but couldn't break his guard's hold. Someone threw more ice over him, packing it in around him with their boots, pushing it roughly against some of his more temperature-sensitive areas.

"..?" One of the soldiers called to Sergei and he stepped away, releasing his hold on Steve's neck. Twisting, Steve sucked in a full breath. The guard kneeling on his back remained.

Steve squinted through his swollen eye and saw Sergei standing near the sinks with several men. They spoke in hushed voices at first, then louder, with Sergei clearly upset and angry about something. A moment later, a command was given and the guard on Steve's back suddenly stepped away, leaving Steve behind in the shower and temporarily alone.

Steve pulled himself into a kneeling position. Bruised, battered, and soaking wet, he knew he had little time to appreciate the short reprieve in his interrogation while Sergei spoke to his men. As the yellow liquid from his unexpected release pooled around his feet and legs, he closed his eyes and tried to pull his ragged breathing under control.

 _Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale…_

Heavy footfalls announced the return of the large commander and one of his subordinates a few minutes later. Steve opened his eyes as the men stepped into the stall, uneasily noticing the large knife in Sergei's hand.

"I am becoming impatient, Lieutenant Commander. My men have searched upstairs. They have searched the horse. They have torn apart your office and will soon finish tearing apart every other office in this building. I am running out of patience for your 'ignorance'." He hooked the blade under Steve's chin, drawing blood. "Where is the drive?"

"I don't know."

The butt of the knife connected with his naval and he doubled over briefly. One of Sergei's men pulled him up.

"And the horse?" Sergei demanded. "Tell me about the horse."

Steve sucked in a pained breath. "I was hired… to find… the horse. That's it. Don't know… about a thumb drive."

"A Navy SEAL hired to find a horse?" Sergei barked a short, mirthless laugh. "You are a terrible liar."

"Not… a SEAL… anymore." Steve winced as the knife moved along his neck to a tender location just behind his ear. He jerked his head away, but the man standing behind him slid an arm around his neck, locking his head in place.

"I have ten minutes, Steven McGarrett," Sergei said, pricking the tender skin behind his ear with the blade. "In ten minutes, you will either tell me where the USB drive is, or you will die, one piece at a time. We will start with this ear."

Steve swallowed with difficulty. The knife dug into the soft skin just behind his earlobe.

"Where is the drive?"

…

Danny made it upstairs without too much difficulty. He only had to hide once, forcing himself into a supply closet to crouch among the mops as two of the intruders appeared suddenly from the main lobby. Thankfully, they passed by without seeing him and quickly disappeared into the stairwell and went toward the basement. Danny breathed a sigh of relief.

He cleared upstairs hallway first, but there was only one lone man on duty, and Danny quickly dispatched him with a single shot, feeling little remorse as the bullet splintered the man's skull and left a nasty stain across the floor. Stepping over the body, he swung around the corner toward the Five-0 offices, his weapon raised as he expected a fight.

Instead, he found an empty wreck. Broken glass littered the floor and trashed files were scattered everywhere. The cleanup alone would take days, maybe all of next week, and there was no telling what the damage to their systems had been. Still, not a man was in sight.

Only partially relieved at the lack of greeting, Danny swept the office room by room, trying to avoid stepping on the debris as he quietly checked the corners and crevices for any enemies. The horse he discovered in the breakroom, alive and surprisingly unharmed. The vending machines had been destroyed but the rest of the space was largely untouched in comparison to the rest of the office.

Stepping into the bullpen where their large computer once stood, Danny surveyed the damage. Paper and glass covered nearly every surface, the furniture in each office tossed or shoved haphazardly in all directions, and every computer that he could see appeared to be smashed.

His own office was in disarray- the filing cabinet had been thrown open and its contents emptied across the floor- but there was little to actually destroy. Danny didn't keep many personal mementos at work and his laptop happened to be resting at his apartment, safely out of danger. Aside from a broken lamp and some overturned shelves, there was little to repair.

Steve's office, on the other hand, contained shelves of awards and memorabilia, and Danny was afraid to see what the terrorists had done with it all. He approached cautiously, gun raised.

As he rounded the corner, someone suddenly knocked the gun from his grasp.

Danny jumped backwards in surprise. The Russian cursed loudly. Danny didn't have time to wonder where he'd come from- the gun skittered across the floor and both men lunged for it.

The Russian got there first. Danny grabbed his foot, pulling the man down, and clawed his way up the torso, somehow managing to pin his arm before the other could fire. The Russian fought back, kicking and punching as they wrestled for control over the weapon.

As they grappled, Danny ended up underneath the man and wrapped an arm around his neck, squeezing tightly. The Russian, both hands free, now grabbed the gun and tried to fire. Danny heard several shots and felt one bullet graze the back of his vest as the man shot blindly behind him.

 _I'm going to die_ , Danny thought briefly. He shifted, searching for a better hold. The man squirmed, trying to get a better angle with the gun. His elbow knocked the mask askew on Danny's face, causing the detective to suddenly begin coughing as the smoke infiltrated his already-irritated lungs. Danny could feel his hands slipping. He struggled to regain control, but his hands were sweaty and he couldn't quite find a good grip. Any second now, the man would point the barrel of the weapon in his direction and Danny would cease to exist.

Then Danny snapped his neck.

…

Danny hadn't meant to kill him. At least, not like that. He felt slightly sick at the pop and slight crack under his fingers. There was something quite different about killing with his hands than with a gun. The gun felt remote, connected yet detached. Danny had killed many times with a gun. He'd killed with a knife. And after each incident, he had dutifully attended every mandatory counselling session and never had any trouble being cleared for active duty.

This time was different.

 _How many months of therapy am I going to need for this?_ he wondered as he pushed the man's body to one side and lay panting on the ground, trying not to empty his lunch on the ground. Steve had taught him that move, and they had practiced and drilled with it during their weekly training sessions, but Danny had never needed to use it until now. How often was he in close-quarters combat, anyway?

He unclipped the man's radio and popped the small earbud in his other ear. Checking to be sure that he could hear but not be heard, he stole out of the office and prowled down the long hallway. The com was eerily quiet.

Where was everyone?

Had that man- and the horse- really been the only occupants of the Five-0 offices? Where were the others?

Disconcerted, Danny hurriedly swept the rest of the second floor.

He took out one man who had taken up a sniper's perch by a window, and he killed two more as they lay in wait on the balcony overlooking the main lobby. Heart ramming, he fled down the stairs, waiting for the inevitable alert over the earpiece, but nothing happened. The building remained startlingly silent.

Hurrying now, Danny made his way back to the security office. The door was cracked and he could see someone sitting in the chair. Someone had gotten the feeds back up, and the man was scanning the cameras. It looked as though he had just started- some of the monitors still weren't on- and Danny realized with relief that the man hadn't seen him yet.

Yet.

As Danny inched closer, he bumped the door. It swung open, creaking loudly on ancient hinges. Danny winced and froze in place.

The man turned. His eyes widened. Reaching behind, he produced a gun and swung it in Danny's direction.

Danny shot first.

Two shots, just to be safe. The man slumped, his gun clattering to the floor. Danny pushed the dead man out of the chair and scanned the monitors. It only took a moment to find Steve. He couldn't see his partner since the cameras only covered the door to the locker room, but the evidence of the armed guards standing in that doorway spoke for itself. He popped his earpiece back in.

"This is Detective Williams. Anybody out there?"

He was relieved when a voice immediately responded: "This is Sargent Clive, SWAT. What's your position, sir?"

"I need to talk to Colonel Thule. Put him on."

"One moment, sir."

Danny kept a wary eye on the monitors as he waited for several agonizing seconds.

"More threats for me, Detective Williams?" the man asked drily as he came on. "I hope you like being unemployed."

"Throw me in the brig after we get Steve out." Danny was in no mood to argue with him. "I'm in the security office and I have Steve's location. They're down in the locker room in the basement. You've got about five minutes before they figure out their man watching the surveillance cameras is dead."

The colonel huffed a sound of disbelief. "And they didn't post any guards?"

"The guards are dead," Danny replied shortly. He studied the image on the monitor. "You've got two hostiles in the locker room doorway. That's it. I don't know how many more are inside down there, but you'd better hurry. Once they know the building has been breached, Steve is dead."

"If Commander McGarrett dies, this is on you, detective."

"If Steve dies, it's because you weren't fast enough," Danny responded.

…

His days in the Navy were almost over. One short, quick swipe and Steve would be on the next medical discharge list.

"Five seconds, Lieutenant Commander," Sergei warned, sending a trickle of blood down Steve's ear as he dug the knife in. The blood from the cut dripped into the ice-clogged drain, mingling with the urine to form a nasty shade of pale orange. Steve tried to suppress a shiver as his feet protested the numbing mix that pooled in the stall.

"Four…"

Steve was in no condition to fight. He couldn't win. The best he could do was leave with dignity.

"Three… two…"

Steve straightened his back. Looking straight ahead, he locked his jaw and braced for the oncoming pain.

"One."

 **A/N: Can't say I'm a huge fan of this chapter. Might need some re-working later. Still fun to write, though. Hope you enjoy!**


	23. Chapter 23- 3 2 1

**A/N: This is so short that I feel guilty making you wait till Saturday for it. That being said, the next chapter is nowhere near complete, so some patience might be necessary. May this tide you over until the next chapter is prepared!**

"So…" Chin stretched and grinned at his younger cousin who was lying in a hammock on the hill overlooking the beach. "We fly back soon."

"Yup." Cocktail in hand, Kono closed her eyes against the warm breeze, determined to not think about their upcoming flight until the last possible second.

"You sound disappointed."

"No… not really. It's just so… so…" Kono sighed, searching for the right word, "so quiet here."

"Ah." Chin could only nod in agreement at that statement. "No bickering, no arguing, no snide remarks… You don't miss it?"

"No," Kono laughed. "Do you?"

Chin considered it for a moment. "A bit. I like the quiet but this… this is almost too quiet. I guess I've gotten used to a bit of noise in my life."

Cracking an eye, Kono peered at him over the edge of her hammock. "What do you think we'll find when we get back? Think Steve destroyed anything?"

"Not if Danny destroyed Steve first," Chin joked. "I know Steve had a bad case of cabin fever. Hopefully something came their way. All he needs is a nice, little case to sink his teeth into."

…

Danny wasn't stupid. He knew he'd been extremely lucky so far: the guards he had encountered were patrolling alone and in areas where any noise was less likely to be heard. He was also grateful for the silencer on his weapon, which allowed him to take them out easily, quietly, without attracting attention.

The locker room was entirely different. Situated along a narrow hallway with only one entry point, it was a highly-defensible position and not one that Danny could tackle by himself. Steve, of course, might have something in his arsenal that would help, but Danny was done being Lone Ranger for the day.

His call to Thule had apparently been all that the colonel needed to take action. Less than three minutes after the phone call, the colonel's forces breeched the building. One cluster entered the front lobby at the same time that a second group came in through the upper story windows, having apparently rappelled down from the roof. Danny watched the operation unfold on the screens with curious fascination, but one eye remained on the monitor showing the downstairs corridor and the locker room entrance. He studied the two men crouched in the doorframe. How soon until they noticed the assault?

"…?"

Danny jumped, startled, as a thick Russian voice came over the dead man's earpiece. Cupping the tiny device near his mouth, he cleared his throat and assembled his best Russian accent.

"Uh… _nyet!_ " he tried in a gruff, muffled voice. What had the man asked? Had he bought Danny's reply? Danny watched the monitor showing the locker room door, but there was no change. When no one else came over the line, he heaved a sigh of relief.

A short time later, he saw several of Thule's men creeping down the corridor outside the security office. He wasn't surprised when one of them entered the tiny room and immediately commandeered the space.

"Sir," the man acknowledged Danny with a quick nod.

Danny stepped back to give him space when his attention was suddenly drawn to the Russian earpiece.

" _You will die, one piece at a time._ "

Danny whipped around to view the monitors. Had they discovered the approaching soldiers? Was the man talking to him?

" _Where is the drive, Commander McGarrett?"_

Steve. They were talking to Steve.

" _We will start with this ear._ "

Danny tapped the soldier on the arm. Mouthing for quiet, he gestured toward the earpiece. The man took it and held it up to his own ear. He listened a moment and his eyes widened. Passing it back to Danny, he hurriedly called in orders to Thule.

Danny hardly paid attention as they argued- he was too focused on what was being said in the locker room. The Russian must have forgotten to turn it off after his last communication. Danny cupped his hand over the small device to mask the noise and held it near his ear.

" _Five seconds, Lieutenant Commander."_

Danny didn't wait to hear what else was said. Taking the earpiece with him, he flew down the corridor to the stairwell - _"Four…"_ \- and leaped down the stairs two at a time.

 _"Three…"_

He darted down the hallway, past the gym where they practiced and the weight room where they trained.

 _"Two_ … _"_

Thule's men were in the corridor ahead. One reached out to grab him. Danny ducked the outstretched arm and ran on.

" _One._ "

…

" _Three..._ "

The guard's arm tightened around Steve's neck.

" _Two…_ "

Steve squinted as dark spots appeared in his vision.

" _One…_."

As the knife bit into the skin behind his ear, Steve threw himself to one side, jerking his head away from the blade. Instead of cutting off his ear, the knife plunged into the arm wrapped around his neck, causing the guard to suddenly release his grip.

Gasping with new breath, Steve put his full weight on his good leg and pushed, throwing himself into the guard and causing all three men to topple to the ground.

Someone bumped the one of the handles, sending a fresh stream from the showerhead. Sergei's knife skittered across the ground and stopped somewhere near Steve's head. _If only his hands were free_ … but they weren't. Steve scrambled under the cold spray, trying to stay away from the others. Twisting, he managed to wrap his legs around his guard's head, placing him in a chokehold.

The guard struggled, gasping for air and choking, much as Steve had done a few seconds earlier.

But Steve couldn't fight both men at once. Sergei, free and far from Steve's grasp, backed out of the shower and drew his weapon.

"Release him."

Steve held on.

"NOW!" and Sergei fired a warning shot into the tiles near Steve's head.

Steve reluctantly complied. He relaxed his hold, allowing the guard to roll away. The man scrambled hastily out of the shower, massaging his throat, but not before giving Steve a brutally-hard departing kick to his bad leg. As pain flooded his senses, Steve cried out and rolled over. He heard the slight _click_ of the gun being cocked behind him.

It was followed by a vaguely familiar, metallic _clink_ and something rolling across the floor.

Then his world exploded for the second time that day.

…

 **A/N: short, I know. Sorry! Busy week at work. Busy weekend coming up. Should have a decent-sized chapter for you next time.**


	24. Chapter 24- Safe at last?

**A/N: Oh ye of little faith… like I would let Thule win the day! Danny has more to come, but I thought it would be a bit unrealistic of him to conquer all the Russians single-handedly, Die-Hard-style, so I needed to put him in a situation that seemed more plausible.**

 **...**

For ten seconds, Steve was both blind and deaf.

Vision returned first, in the form of tilting shapes and dark, off-color figures in a misshapen, lopsided world. Slower was his hearing, which began as a faint ringing and built into a frenzied roar, broken by muffled shouts and gunshots

Someone turned the water off. Other hands seized him and picked him up, pulling him out of the stall. Steve had no energy left to fight and hung limply in their grasp until they deposited him on a dry, warm bit of the locker room floor. He was vaguely aware of someone unlocking his handcuffs and draping a towel around his shoulders. He shook his head drunkenly, trying to clear the distorted sights and sounds as he shivered in the cool air. Noises echoed hollowly between his ears and a high-pitch whine pervaded the background, exasperating the headache that had begun to throb painfully behind his eyes.

"Commander?"

Steve blinked, unsure where to focus.

"Commander McGarrett?" the voice asked again.

"Y-yeah?" Steve managed.

"The paramedics are here to…." but the rest of the sentence was lost as his hearing faded out again. Steve nodded briefly in answer to the man's question- whatever it was- and the next moment found himself lying on a stretcher. Someone wrapped a soft blanket around his soaking-wet body, then tucked a foil blanket over it. Another person buckled the straps and cinched them tight. They rolled him through the hallways and carried him down the steps to the front lawn where an ambulance waited with the engine running.

Steve kept his eyes closed. The rush of florescent lights overhead only made him feel nauseous and compounded his headache. Outside it was nearly dark and a few stars were scattered overhead. Steve cracked one eye open, then shut it quickly when the gurney bumped over the curb onto the parking lot asphalt. He resented the gentle rocking movement as the gurney was loaded into the back of the ambulance and groaned softly under his breath. The slightly-addled feeling from the stun grenade after his ordeal would only pass with sleep and time, and Steve was certainly looking forward to the sleeping part.

A moment later, the sirens blared and the ambulance raced away.

...

Danny pounded down the hallway as the unknown Russian man counted down in the earpiece that Danny clutched to one ear. He heard the shouts, the bang, and the gunshots and faltered for a moment. Was Steve alive? Pressing the piece against his ear, he strained to hear some sound from his partner, any indication that he was alive.

He heard soldiers. Shouts. Russian and English babbling together.

 _Crunch_.

Danny jerked away at the loud noise. When he tried again, all he heard was static.

Someone had stepped on it.

Danny ran on.

"Sir! Stop!" A soldier moved to intercept him as Danny approached the locker room door. "You can't go in there."

"The hell I can't," Danny said and tried to push past him.

The next moment, he was lying on the ground with one arm twisted behind his back. " _I've got him, sir,_ " the man said into his radio. " _The detective you wanted. Short, button-up, blond hair?_ "

Danny couldn't hear the response and struggled to turn around so he could at least see the locker room doors, but the man held him tight, trapping his head against the floor facing the opposite direction.

" _Yes sir._ " Pause. " _No sir, not yet._ "

Danny heard the doors open and shut as men moved in and out of the space behind him. One was screaming in Russian. Orders were barked. Things were moved. Something clanged against the door frame.

" _You want me to hold him here, sir?_ "

"Is that Thule?" Danny demanded, still struggling. "You tell that bastard to let me go so I can find my partner."

" _They've just finished,_ " the soldier said, ignoring him. There came another pause and the muffled noise of instructions. " _Understood, sir._ " Then, abruptly, he stood up and finally released Danny.

The detective jumped to his feet, irately brushing the dust from his clothes. "Well? Can I go, or are you going to try to break my arm again?"

"You're free to go, sir," the soldier said and stepped aside with no other explanation. Danny stared at him and opened his mouth to deliver a sharp rant, but thought better of it. Steve needed him. Moving around the soldier, he hurried to the door and pulled it open.

Inside, chaos reigned. Pieces of chipped and broken tile, shell casings, and debris littered the floor of the locker room and showers. The ground was slick with a mixture of water and dark streaks of blood where the wounded or dead had been dragged from the room. Soldiers were everywhere, securing prisoners and carrying the wounded away.

Danny stepped cautiously through the mess, his heart racing as he eyed the blood. "Steve?" he called. "Steve, you here?"

Of course Steve wasn't there. Danny guessed that, but he checked anyway, just to make sure. He looked in every stall and behind every curtain and every door. On the ground in the locker room, he saw a pile of plastic wrappers from medical equipment. Someone had been tended to by paramedics and then taken away in an ambulance, he reasoned, but was it Steve? Danny grabbed a passing soldier and asked, but the man was clueless as to where Steve had been taken or even who he was.

Another soldier was more helpful: a man had been taken away by paramedics on a stretcher, he said. Where, he didn't know, but it was at least a start.

Frustrated (and unwilling to wait for Thule to reappear and possibly detain him), Danny returned upstairs to the lobby. The best thing he could do, Danny decided, was to take a guess where Steve was headed and try to follow. After waging a brief internal battle, he decided Queen's was the most likely destination. Fishing in his pocket for Steve's truck keys, he climbed into the vehicle at the back of the lot and took off after them.

...

"Sir?" A gloved hand prodded his shoulder gently. "Are you awake?"

Steve nodded briefly.

"Can you open your eyes for me?" The short, dark-haired paramedic in the back of the ambulance smiled as Steve gingerly cracked his eyes open a few seconds later. "Hi there. My name's Sara."

"Hi," Steve grunted. He winced as the ambulance hit a pothole.

"How's the head?" she asked, slipping a blood pressure cuff around his arm.

"Uh… dizzy," Steve responded after a moment. "Flash bangs."

"Multiple?" she asked in surprise.

"Two."

Sara jotted something on her tablet, then returned her attention to the blood pressure cuff. "You were exposed to tear gas?" she asked as the cuff inflated.

"Yeah," Steve closed his eyes and felt a faint burning from trace amounts of the chemicals. "It's not bad anymore, though." The cuff tightened around his arm, then released slowly with a hiss. He kept his eyes closed as she removed it and heard her typing again, her nails clicking against the tablet's screen.

"Any trouble breathing?"

"No."

That wasn't quite truthful- the beating he had received had left him with sore ribs and painful bruises across much of his upper body. Although nothing appeared to be broken (Sergei intentionally planned on prolonging the agony, Steve figured), the result of the physical abuse was a deep ache that began deep in his chest and pulsed outward with every breath. But Sara seemed to believe him. She took his pulse, temperature, attached sticky pads and leads to his chest, and typed a few more notes onto the tablet. The ambulance rattled away over the rough, heat-stricken roads toward the ER, with Steve wincing on every bump and jolt.

 _pop pop pop_

Steve's eyes shot open. He knew that sound. Stifling a groan, he tried to sit up.

"Sir, please don't!" Sara exclaimed, rushing to hold him back. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to… see outside…" Steve grunted. He fumbled for the straps holding him to the gurney, but Sara grabbed his hands to stop him.

"Sir, you really need to lay down," she said emphatically. "Why do you need to see outside?"

"Gunshots."

There was no doubt a second later when one of the bullets struck the rear of the vehicle with a dull _thump_. Sara stifled a surprised cry and took a quick peek out the window.

"What do you see?" Steve asked, quickly unfastening the straps around his chest and legs with his good hand.

"Uh… There's a van." Her voice wavered, then strengthened again. "It's dark, maybe blue? Looks like a man leaning out the passenger side is shooting."

"Can you see the weapon?"

"No. It's too dark outside. Sorry."

Steve waved off her apology and forced himself into a sitting position. "Got any weapons in here?" he asked, already knowing the answer. His eyes roved the back of the vehicle, searching for something useful. Maybe the oxygen canister? But he needed more time to make that idea work. Plus, Danny always had a fit whenever Steve MacGyvered something together.

Sara had other concerns. "You shouldn't be sitting up," she said, worriedly monitoring his vitals and distinctly unhappy to see his heart rate spiking.

Steve grunted. He lurched and fell into a reclined position on the gurney as the ambulance sped up suddenly and began to swerve, apparently in an attempt to lose their pursuers. As a stream of bullets struck the back and side of the vehicle, he and Sara both winced, ducking when the window glass was shattered.

"Get on the floor!" he shouted, neatly pulling out his IV and sliding off the gurney, pulling her with him onto the floor. He felt Sara flinch as a series of bullets struck the side of the vehicle. "You okay? You hit?"

"I'm fine," she gasped. "Just… surprised." She was shaking.

The ambulance turned sharply, sending both of them sprawling and dumping what loose supplies there were off the shelves. As Steve tried to pick himself up, a loud bang and jolt announced one of their tires had been shot. The ambulance swerved, wavered, and suddenly stopped, crashing into something outside. Steve fell sideways into the gurney while Sara was thrown against one of the cabinets.

When the movement finally ceased, he sat up cautiously.

 _ding ding ding_

A fresh barrage of bullets battered the outside of the ambulance. Steve crawled across the floor toward the canister of oxygen in one corner, trying to avoid the shattered glass and sharp debris. "Sara?" he asked as he worked to unstrap the tank and lower it to the floor. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she responded shakily. "Just not my usual day at work."

"Can you reach any gauze? And tubing, I need tubing."

 _pop ding ding pop_

The shots were closer now, shattering the glass on the second window in the back of the ambulance. Steve ducked as a few stray pieces scraped his cheek. _How long do I have?_ Steve wondered as he worked. Seconds, probably. A minute if he were lucky. Certainly not enough time to make a small bomb, but it wouldn't stop him from trying.

Hoping to buy himself a few minutes more, he looped a rope and some medical tubing around the door handles and cinched it tight. It wouldn't buy them much; maybe a minute, max. He returned his attention to the O2 canister. "Hand me that tape?" he asked, pointing to a roll that had fallen to the floor.

"What are you doing?" she asked as she crawled across the floor with the tape.

"Making a bomb. I hope." Wrapping tape around the tubing, he reached for the tank nozzle but suddenly stopped. "Shh. Hear that?" Steve's voice dropped to a whisper. It was suddenly very quiet outside. The bullets had stopped.

"They've stopped shooting," Sara observed.

Steve nodded. He worked faster.

A moment later, they heard heavy footsteps approaching the truck. The doors rattled as someone yanked at them, but the binding around the handles held strong.

Steve stared at his half-finished bomb. He didn't have time to complete it. He needed a weapon and he needed it now.

 _Thump_

Something heavy and metal clanged against the handles outside. They were trying to break in. Pulling himself upright, Steve searched desperately around the interior of the truck. "Where's a scalpel?" he whispered hastily to Sara. "Or a knife? Anything sharp."

She opened a drawer and thrust a scalpel in a sealed baggie into his hands. Gesturing for her to hide, Steve ripped open the bag, gripped the scalpel tightly, and crouched at the rear, next to the doors.

 _Thump_.

Steve balanced precariously on his good leg and braced for a fight. His other leg throbbed furiously and his chest stung where the sticky leads had been ripped off.

 _Thump._

In his periphery, Steve saw Sara crouch behind the gurney, a scalpel of her own clenched in her shaking fist.

 _Crack_.

The bindings around the handle fell to the floor as the handle collapsed. A moment later, the doors flew open, but there was no one for Steve to fight.

Instead, blinding light filled the back of the ambulance. Steve threw up a hand against the glare and blinked, trying to make out the figures in the darkness outside. The only person he could see clearly, however, was a frightened young man, the ambulance driver, bound and kneeling in the grass at the edge of the shadows. A black gloved hand rested on his shoulder and a gun was pressed to his head.

For Steve, the meaning was clear:

 _Surrender or he dies_.

Steve surrendered.

 **A/N: got in really late last night and have to work tonight... Sorry for the delay! Hope you enjoyed the chapter!**


	25. Chapter 25- Danny to the Rescue

**A/N: Caught whatever bug is going around. Not how I planned on spending the long weekend. Ugh. Hope everyone else out there had a good Thanksgiving!**

 _The only person Steve could see clearly was a frightened young man, the ambulance driver, bound and kneeling in the grass at the edge of the shadows. A black gloved hand rested on his shoulder and a gun was pressed to his head._

 _For Steve, the meaning was clear:_

 _Surrender or he dies._

 _So Steve surrendered._

…

He dropped the scalpel to the floor of the truck. Outside, one of the men stepped out of the shadows. Waving his gun, he gestured for Steve kneel.

The ambulance bay was covered in broken glass and Steve could feel it cutting his bare feet and knees as he slowly lowered himself to the floor. Following the man's movements, he then raised his hands and placed them behind his head, sliding his fingers together. Steve could only make out two men in the darkness outside- based on his knowledge of Russian wet work teams, the getaway driver and a sniper were the most likely suspects.

"Where is it?" the man growled savagely, moving toward him. "Where is the drive?"

"It's not here," Steve answered truthfully.

"I asked where it is, not where it isn't," the man spat. "You tell me the location, or this nice boy dies."

The man holding the driver gave him a little shake and the driver whimpered.

Steve felt a jolt of pity for the man. He had an idea as to what was coming next, and he was absolutely powerless to stop it.

"Well?" the Russian demanded.

"The drive is back at the Palace," Steve responded dully, pulling his gaze away from the driver. "I hid it."

"You are lying."

"I'm not lying."

"Where?"

Steve closed his eyes. "My office."

"My comrades searched your office."

"Did you unfold the flag?" Steve opened his eyes and studied the man's face. He could see that the man didn't know. "There's a folded American flag in my office. The drive is hidden in the folds of the cloth."

"A fitting location given your misplaced American patriotism," the man sneered. "But I think you are still lying. Oleg," he said, directing his words to his companion, "shoot the driver."

…

 _A few minutes earlier:_

Danny swerved through the busy nighttime streets of Honolulu, his police lights on but the siren off, windows down as he strained to hear the faint, undulating whine of the ambulance siren. The city's skyscrapers didn't make it easy, bouncing and reflecting the noise in all directions, throwing it first this way and then another. Still, Danny thought as he flew through another red light, if it's louder, then I must be getting closer.

Suddenly, however, a new noise reached his ears. He frowned, unsure at first if he'd heard properly, but when the noise came again, there was no doubt. Gunshots.

Not just any gunshots. Automatic weapons.

A getaway car. Of course the Russians would have had an escape plan. They would have parked nearby, maybe the garage across the street, and waited. And when their team was captured, the mission fell to the these last few to complete.

The sirens suddenly dimmed as the ambulance swerved off the main road and Danny slowed, listening for where it might have turned. In the midst of the weekend nighttime chaos and the incessant ruckus from several thousand late-night tourists, the sound of the ambulance was swallowed up and completely lost.

" _Dammit_ ," he cursed under his breath when several streets had passed with still no trace of the wayward vehicle. " _Where are you, Steve?_ "

…

The driver's death was quick and painless. If Steve were looking for a silver lining to his current situation, that was apparently as much as he was going to get. As the man's body slumped to the ground with a soft _oof_ , the second Russian jumped inside the back of the rig and quickly seized Sara, dragging her forward and forcing her to kneel next to Steve.

"The shock on your face- you thought I was joking." The first Russian man chuckled mirthlessly as he watched Steve from the grass. "You did not think we would kill him."

Steve forced himself to remain calm. He was in no shape to fight. Despite the rage surging through him, his body trembled from the exertion of merely remaining upright, his arms shaking as he struggled to keep them raised above his head. He felt heavy, out of breath as though he had just finished a long run. Heaving in as much air as his aching lung could inhale, he tried to be diplomatic with his next statement. "I've told you what you want to know. Now let her go."

"You told me a lie."

"It's the truth."

"Do you want me to kill her, too?"

Kneeling mere feet away, Sara whimpered at the threat and shook her head desperately. Steve felt a heavy guilt settle in his stomach, not for the death of her partner or her own impending end, but because he had no comfort to offer and no hope to give. The situation, as far as he could tell, was rather hopeless. They would kill her regardless of whether or not they actually found the hard drive, and Steve's own life was only safe as long as the drive remained hidden.

"Well?" the Russian demanded harshly. "Where is it?"

"I've already told you," Steve ground out. "It's your choice to not believe me."

"You are lying!"

Impatiently, Steve tried to point to the poor logic in their current situation. "The police are looking for this ambulance- the driver called them just before the wreck. The longer we stay here, the greater the chance that you'll be discovered."

"Shut up!"

"If you leave now, you might still make it off the island alive."

"I said shut up!" the man shouted, firing a warning shot. The bullet struck the metal siding, ricocheted much too close to where Steve knelt, and struck the gurney, embedding itself in the heavy pad. "Shut up and lay down. Oleg," he directed the other man, "secure his hands. We take him with us."

Steve reached forward and lowered himself gingerly onto the broken glass and plastic on the floor, shuddering as the cold floor and sharp glass came in contact with his bare skin. "What about her?" he asked as he placed his hands in the small of his back.

"What do you think?"

They would kill her. "If you think you can torture me, it won't work," Steve grunted as Oleg pulled his hands together roughly.

"Shut up."

"I'll cooperate better if you spare her life."

"Keep talking and I'll strip your underwear off and stuff them in your mouth," Oleg threatened. He slipped zip ties over Steve's wrists and cinched them tighter than necessary. "Get up," he instructed, jumping down.

Steve grunted as he rolled over and carefully sat up. Bits of glass clung to his torso, biting his skin uncomfortably. Scooting forward, he lowered his feet over the edge of the rig and dropped into the grass.

"Stay there. Don't move," Oleg said unnecessarily. He jumped back inside, seized Sara, secured her hands, and dragged her out of the ambulance and toward the car. Her kicking went unnoticed by the large man, and her screams were masked by his heavy hand over her mouth.

Steve watched the scene unfold apprehensively, unsure what to do. Feverish and not wholly dry, he shivered in the night air, his body decidedly unhappy at losing the warmth and comfort of the blankets left behind on the gurney.

The pain in his legs and torso was a pressing reminder of the medical care that he urgently needed, but it was also a distraction. Steve struggled to think clearly through the sluggish haze that seemed to have settled over his brain. Even the sharp memory of Joe White's voice from his days at BUDs had little effect on his ability to construct any kind of viable plan.

He could, he supposed, try to tackle the man and break his zip ties. It wouldn't work but Steve couldn't think of anything else. Pushing his weariness firmly aside, he prepared to enact his desperate plan. Tensing, he waited for the Russian nearest him to turn slightly away so he could charge him. He didn't need much…

Just a small margin.

A slit of opportunity.

…

The crack of a single gunshot pierced the night sky in downtown Honolulu. Danny threw on the brakes and turned hard to the left, shooting down a narrow side street in the direction of the faintly-heard report. Orange street lights and bright neon whisked by in a blur as Danny searched for the source of the sound. On a hunch, he turned onto a cut-through toward the park and was rewarded a moment later when he saw the strobing lights of the ambulance blinking rapidly near the trees.

Fumbling the radio's buttons, he hastily called in his location to Duke and requested reinforcements and another ambulance. Steve wasn't alone. A van had parked behind the broken-down rig, and in the bright beam of their headlights, he could make out two men.

" _Gotcha_ ," he whispered triumphantly. Pulling over, he shut off his own engine and drew his weapon, gently pushing the door to before creeping away into the shadows.

Moving slightly left so that he could approach from behind, Danny finally had the opportunity to see his partner for the first time and felt a rush of anger at what he saw. Kneeling in the back of the ambulance, his shaking hands raised above his head, Steve was obviously in distress. He was also mostly naked and Danny wondered briefly where his clothing had gone, but there would be time to learn that later.

Across his chest, which Danny could see more clearly now, was a spray of dark bruises and glittering flecks of glass and blood, and Danny watched him shudder and shiver in the night air. Thankfully, he didn't see the tell-tale list of a broken rib, but that didn't mean Steve wasn't hiding it or other more severe injuries.

Inching closer, he heard angry voices in heavily-accented English, and he suddenly saw and understood why Steve hadn't taken action and destroyed these two men at once- he wasn't alone. Kneeling opposite of him was a young woman, a paramedic judging by her uniform. It occurred to Danny that if she were here, the driver must be as well, but he couldn't see anyone else.

The two Russian men were gesturing angrily now and Steve, apparently following their instructions, lay down and allowed himself to be bound by one of the men. Then he sat up, moved to the edge of the ambulance, and climbed down into the grass. His movements were awkward, clumsy, and not at all the graceful, powerful movements that Danny was accustomed to seeing. He must be hurting, Danny reasoned, but really it was no wonder considering the mottled bruising and battered face and who-knew-what-else beneath the surface.

The Russians' attention now turned to the girl, and Danny used that moment to dart across the street and edge closer to the Russian's car. The lighting was very poor- a sad mix of city lights and weak moonlight overhead- and while Danny could have taken the shot already, he wanted to be absolutely certain that he wouldn't miss. Given their proximity to Steve, he couldn't afford to.

Crouched behind their van, his hands steadied on the warm metal siding, he lined up the man currently guarding Steve. The other was now occupied with the girl, his gun pointed in no particular direction as he dragged her forward and began to tie her hands with some of the medical tubing from the back of the rig. Danny sucked in a deep breath and prepared to fire.

Then he froze as a familiar tickle sprang up in his chest. _Not now, not now_ , he pleaded silently, but his body neither listened nor obeyed. The tickle grew and spread, crawling up his throat and down toward his lungs, and the feeling to cough began suddenly more urgent.

Danny ducked down into the shadows behind the van and fumbled in his pockets for the inhaler, but somehow, in the hectic events of the past few hours, it had fallen out and disappeared. _Oh geez, why now?_ He thumped his chest softly and tried to chuff quietly under his breath, already knowing that it would do no good.

Thule's men had brought the air system at the Palace back online and had quickly cleared most of the gas from the building, but that hadn't stopped Danny from inhaling quite a bit of it first. This repeat exposure would cost his vulnerable lungs dearly- Danny knew that much- but he had was greatly displeased that payment was being reckoned now. He tucked his chin into his arm and shuddered as the cough fought to break free.

To say his lungs were unhappy would be a gross understatement. He had ignored his own quiet coughing and rasping in the locker room as he searched for Steve, and again in the truck as he drove through the streets after him. Adrenaline has also possibly played a role, mitigating the effects of the gas until now, apparently.

Danny cursed under his breath as he choked back another cough, rocking back and forth in the thick grass, his eyes watering from the effort.

 _"Mmmph!"_

A sudden, muffled cry nearby startled him. Poking his head around the corner, Danny realized abruptly that his hiding place would soon be hidden no longer. One of the Russians was dragging the paramedic, now bound, with a heavy hand gagging her mouth, through the grass with the clear intention of loading her into the van. Danny brought his gun up, but his hand shook as he continued to cough silently into his throat. He would have to wait until the man was close- very close.

As the Russian dragged the young woman toward the van and threw open the door, Danny emerged from his hiding place. The man, sensing something in his periphery, turned, but it was already too late. He collapsed with a hole just below his ear.

The other man, alerted to Danny's presence by the loud report, turned as Danny fired again. His first shot winged the man, and the Russian staggered, falling to one knee in the grass just in front of Steve and leaving very few options for a second shot. Leaving the safety of the van, Danny ran forward, praying for a better angle before the man could recover. He saw Steve look around wildly before throwing himself down to the ground and the grass rippled as he rolled away to safety under the ambulance.

The Russian, recovering, stood and turned, searching the darkness for Danny.

Danny fired and missed.

Raising his gun, the Russian man fired blindly in his direction and Danny ducked, throwing himself against the van as one of the bullets whizzed by much too close, tearing the fabric in his sleeve.

Danny shot again, this time striking him in the leg. The man lurched but did not fall, stumbling slightly forward to catch himself on the ambulance's metal bumper. Illuminated in the bright beams of the van's headlights, he was the perfect target and Danny cursed silently for missing such an easy shot. His chest burned from holding back the cough and he braced himself against the open van door as he prepared to try again.

But his previous shot had revealed Danny's position. Eyes narrowing on the van's open door, the Russian now aimed directly at the detective.

Danny pulled the trigger. As the shot erupted, so did the cough, and he collapsed in a fit of hacking before he could see what happened. Clutching the gun tightly in one hand, he hunched over on all fours in the grass and surrendered to the urgent need to clear his lungs, coughing and wheezing uncontrollably until his eyes watered and his nose ran. At any moment, he expected the Russian to come running up and shoot him but, to his surprise, no one came. Instead, Danny was left alone, his body wracked with violent trembling as the coughing continued.

And then, at last, it was over. Panting, Danny crawled forward a few feet and pulled himself up onto the floor of the van, shakily aiming his gun toward the ambulance.

Aside from his own labored breathing, all was quiet. Danny cast a sideways glance into the van's dark interior. The paramedic stared back at him with wide, frightened eyes. Danny nodded briefly to her, then stalked through the grass toward the ambulance. The second Russian lay motionless on the ground. Danny pulled his weapon away and flung it into the darkness. Then he bent over the peered under the rig.

"Steve?"

For a very long, terrifying moment, he heard only silence. Then, hoarsely:

"Yeah?" Steve's head emerged from the darkness. "Coming," and he half-rolled, half-crawled out of his narrow safety under the rig. Danny grasped his arm and pulled him upright, pushing him to lean against the back of the ambulance while he briefly rummaged in the dead Russian's pocket for a knife.

"Here," he grunted, neatly cutting the zip ties. As Steve stretched and rubbed his wrists, Danny finally had a chance to get a good look at him. "You're a mess," he noted, eyeing the large, blotchy bruise on his partner's thigh and the myriad of cuts, swellings, and bruises scattered across his body. His nose wrinkled suddenly at an uncomfortable combination of odors and he took an involuntary step back. "Where are your clothes?" He looked around, but clearly the desired items weren't on the rig. Instead, spotting the blankets, he hopped inside and snagged one, throwing it around Steve's shoulders. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah," Steve bit out stubbornly, but it was a lie. Danny couldn't help a brief eye-roll as his friend collapsed to the ground a moment later, and he thrust his hand out helpfully.

"Here," and he pulled Steve upright, draping one arm over his back and shouldering as much of the weight as he could manage. "This would be so much easier if you were normal-sized," he grunted as they hobbled toward the van.

"Could… could say the same thing… about you," Steve panted. He remained miraculously upright while Danny freed the paramedic. "Ambulance?" he asked when Danny took his arm again.

"I'm not about to wait around for more Russians to show up," Danny huffed, muffling another cough. Bending over, he released Steve briefly so he could grab the assault rifle from the dead Russian and slung it over his shoulder. "Already surprised us once."

"That… shoulda been all… of 'em," Steve grunted, wincing as they crossed the street.

"I don't care," Danny replied shortly.

Steve practically fell into the front seat when they reached the truck, and it took both Danny and the paramedic pushing and pulling to get him inside. Ignoring the seatbelt, Danny rushed around to the driver's side, plunged the keys in the ignition, and took off down the street toward Queen's.

…

 **Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! Holiday tip: don't catch whatever I've got. It sucks. Stay safe!**


	26. Chapter 26- Hospital

**A/N: Sorry this is a day late. Still recovering… Hope it's okay. Mucinex messes me up in the head.**

"Hey. Sara, isn't it?"

The lanky, brown-haired paramedic looked up and nodded shortly to him from her seat near the ER's front desk. Accustomed to being behind the doors with the action and not in the brightly-lit waiting room, she perched awkwardly on the edge of the plastic chair as though expecting to be called to duty at any moment.

But Danny knew better. He knew that wouldn't happen.

Her supervisor had called earlier. Danny had only caught one side of the conversation, but it was enough to figure out the other half. Sara was to be checked out and then, as soon as she was cleared, she was to go home and rest. An officer had already come by to take their statements and one of Thule's men had shown up for the same thing shortly thereafter. Danny gave them a succinct version of events in short, clipped tones, his eyes on the double doors at the end of the hall in case someone appeared with news about Steve. So far, however, over an hour had passed with no word.

Casting a concerned eye over the young woman, Danny noted the slight tremor in her hands and her shallow, cautious breaths. She was on the verge of crying, and he felt a pang for the loss she had suffered.

All things considered, Sara had held up remarkably well during the questioning, though Danny had been prepared to step in if things went south. He owed her at least that much. She'd given her statement in a bleak monotone, faltering only when talking about the driver's death. Danny didn't catch the man's name- she spoke it too softly for him to hear- and immediately afterward she went to the bathroom and stayed there for a very long time.

Now she was back, clutching a wad of tissues in one hand while the other nervously stroked the round, orange-and-gold emblem on her uniform sleeve. Her eyes never rested in one place too long; they darted restlessly around the room, blinking frequently as she tried to ward off the tears.

"You're Sara?" Danny tried again, using the name he had overheard while she was speaking with the police officer. "I'm Danny. Danny Williams." He thrust out a hand.

"Hi," she shook his hand with a small smile. "I'm sorry about your partner," she added softly. "He should be fine, though- his vitals weren't too bad when he was with me."

Of course she would be more concerned about Steve than herself. Danny shook his head. "I'm not worried about him," he said, eliciting a surprised look from Sara. "This isn't our first rodeo. Don't get me wrong- I _am_ worried about him, but he's had worse." Danny's fingers tightened instinctively in his lap as his thoughts carried him back to Korea and Wo Fat and Afghanistan. "He'll recover from this. It'll just take some time." He gave Sara what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about him- you did great. Thank you."

She smiled slightly in response.

"What about you? How are you holding up?" She seemed to be uninjured, but Danny guessed the psychological trauma would be a different issue.

Sara shrugged. "I'm okay."

"Uh huh." Danny waited her out. The tough act, the nonchalance… he'd seen it all before.

"I mean… I'll be alright," she added unconvincingly as her voice faltered and she looked toward the ceiling, blinking rapidly. "Tom was… he was a neat guy. We'd been together for three years."

"Your partner?" Danny guessed.

"Yeah." She sniffed, turning her head away. "Sorry."

"Hey, hey." Reaching across the space between them, Danny gently squeezed her arm. "You've got nothing to be sorry about. I've been there before. My partner back in Jersey…" Danny stopped suddenly at the thought of his partner Grace and the case in NYC that had changed everything. Even fourteen years later, it still hurt. "I, uh… I'm sorry I didn't get there sooner," he added lamely and mentally kicked himself.

She sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Not your fault," she whispered. "Thanks for saving me." She rubbed one hand subconsciously over her wrist where slight bruising was beginning to show. "I think they wanted to use me to… to make your partner cooperate. They needed something from him and he… he didn't want to tell them where it was."

"A thumb drive?"

"Yes," she nodded briefly and wiped her eyes again. "The Russian man… he didn't say anything else. But… I just don't understand… why did they kill David? What is so important that they had to kill him for it?"

Danny didn't say anything. He didn't have an answer to that question, but he knew Steve probably did. And, unfortunately, he knew it was a classified answer neither he nor Sara would ever hear. For himself, the lack of knowledge was frustrating; for Sara, it felt like injustice. He frowned, wishing he had some reassurance more comforting than a simple 'I'm sorry,' but those thoughts were interrupted when a nurse appeared in the room.

"Sara Edmundson?"

Sara stood. "That's me." Reaching over, she briefly squeezed Danny's hand. "Tell your partner thank you for me. He saved my life."

"Will do," Danny promised. He wanted to thank her for saving Steve's, or at the very least, helping patch him up and keep him together, but she pulled her hand away before the words could form.

"Bye," she said softly and turned away, following the nurse through the double doors at the end of the room.

Danny watched her disappear with a small frown and mentally berated for his lack of tact and consideration. " _Way to go, Williams,_ " he muttered under his breath. Annoyed, he pulled a hand methodically over his hair, combing down the loose bits as he tried to sort out what he should have done. But overthinking it didn't seem to help and only increased his frustration with himself. He was spared further introspection when another nurse appeared a few minutes later.

"Family of McGarrett?"

…

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

"I'm fine and I'll recover, thanks for asking," Steve said drily.

"Hello, you're welcome for saving your life, again," Danny responded equally.

"How's my truck?" Steve asked instead, determined to route the conversation in his favor.

"Aside from some blood on the seat and a few bullet holes, it's fine."

"You shot up my truck?" The heart rate monitor spiked as Steve pushed himself up against the pillows, fighting against the blankets that seemed to tether him to the bed. "How bad is it?"

"I didn't shoot it up; the Russians did," Danny pointed out while trying to push him back down. He assumed several of the bullets meant for him had flown past the van and hit the truck on the other side of the street instead.

"But it's my truck! It's almost brand new!"

"I'm sorry, did you miss the part where they _almost killed me_?" Irate over his partner's misplaced outrage, Danny couldn't help his voice rising in response. "Do you know how difficult it is to keep you alive?"

"I don't-"

"Very. It's _very_ difficult." With a huff, Danny plopped down in the chair next to the bed. He'd had ample time to reflect on the past 24 hours while waiting for the doctors to finish with Steve, and he'd come up with a list of objections to his partner's recent behavior. "First, you run off after Russians. Alone. No backup. No note. No call or text message. You have a phone, you know." In between talking to the police, Thule's men, and Sara, Danny had spent his wait time in the lobby downstairs outlining his objections to his partner's actions, and since there was no immediate danger to their situation, he decided now would be a good time to give Steve a piece of his mind. "I get that there wasn't any signal out where you found the unicorn, but when you got back in town, could you seriously not have stopped for two seconds to call me?"

"I couldn't-" Steve began, but the question was apparently rhetorical and Danny muted him with another wave of his hand as he continued.

"No, you apparently couldn't, because I found out from Duke. He called to tell me that you were on horseback and being chased through the streets of downtown Honolulu. Somehow you and that stupid animal ended up in the office- yay for you- and then you promptly kicked me out and stayed behind to fend for yourself. With the horse. And look where that got you!" Danny waved a hand at his partner's bedridden state.

"I can't help the-"

"Did I give you permission to speak? Don't answer that." Somewhere deep in his chest, a cough rumbled impatiently, and Danny tapped his chest impatiently as he tried to ward it off. "Of course, you had to stay behind and play Die Hard with the Russians. No explanation. No mention of a plan. I had to play Guess What Steve's Doing Now, and that is a game that I _really_ do not enjoy."

"I'm sorry if I-"

"And _then_ ," Danny interrupted loudly, drowning out Steve's apology, "after I risk my life to save you, you take off in an ambulance, again without backup, and I have to track you down. Again. In case you were wondering, _Where's Steve?_ is not nearly as much fun as _Where's Waldo?_ "

Steve did not speak this time when Danny paused for breath. Cautiously eyeing his partner with a training born of years of experience, Steve assessed whether it was safe for him to speak now, or whether there was perhaps something more coming.

"And _now_ ," Danny continued, missing Steve's slight nod as he correctly guessed the continuation of the rant, "now I'm holed up with you in a hospital room and," he ejected the clip from his gun and counted quickly, "three bullets left and no freaking clue if I'm going to need them. There's no guards, no protection, and I have no idea if your special commando friends got the rest of the Russians or not."

Folding his arms to ward off the aching in his lungs, he paced the room. "Your truck isn't that bad- I wiped down the seats earlier and got most of the stains out, and the bullet damage is mostly cosmetic. Since we took down a drug cartel and an international espionage ring, I'm sure the governor will pay for it. Or maybe your precious colonel."

Danny stopped to take a deep breath and found himself coughing instead. Reaching for the cup of water that the nurse had left for Steve, he quickly downed it and waited for the spell to pass. "You're lucky… that I'm willing to chase you down… and save your ass repeatedly," he managed between coughs.

"When do I get the bill?" Steve asked drily as he refilled the cup for him.

"Oh, it's coming." Danny took the cup and swallowed it in one gulp. "Next time you try something like that without backup, I'll just let the Russians have you."

"Thanks."

"Uh-huh."

"I mean it, Danny. Thank you." The two words were sincere and surprisingly devoid of sarcasm.

Danny sat down with small huff. "You're welcome." He didn't miss the wince as Steve set the pitcher back on the bedside table and passed a critical eye over the butterfly bandages on his partners face. There wasn't much to see on the surface, but Danny hadn't forgotten what he had seen when his partner was kneeling nearly naked in the back of the ambulance. His eyes drifted down to the sheets and he tried to determine what other injuries might be lurking beneath the covers. "So… nothing broken, huh?"

"Nope." Dressed in a horrid polka-dot hospital gown and propped up in bed with several oversized, lumpy pillows, Steve forced a grin for his partner's sake. "I'm fine, D."

Danny snorted then grimaced as his mood shifted abruptly from annoyance to concern. His partner was not fine. Danny hadn't seen the full report yet, but he had questioned Steve's doctor while the nurse was helping his partner get situated and what he heard had left him deeply unsettled. Bruised ribs (none fully broken), multiple small cuts and lacerations around the wrists and face, a severe contusion on his thigh from the horse (again not broken, thank God), and a suspected bruised bladder and kidney. That last injury on the list left him fuming, and he barely heard the doctor's added comment that they had taken time to wash him down and rinse the urine out of his hair.

Danny shook his head. No, his partner was not fine at all, but he wasn't about to start that argument. His final disapproving huff morphed into another cough, however, and he turned away, wheezing.

"Brah, that doesn't sound good."

"'M fine," Danny wheezed. He dumped the rest of the water from the pitcher into the cup and knocked it back. "It's okay. Just had a lot of action today."

"Uh huh," Steve said skeptically. "Where's your inhaler?"

"Lost it." Tired and wanting to change the subject, Danny reached for the light switch, intending to spend the night in the chair by the bed.

Steve stopped him. "Not so fast. I'm calling the nurse."

"I'm fine," Danny insisted again, perhaps a little too quickly as his ears reddened. "Just a little trouble with the tear gas. It'll pass."

"Too late." Steve had already pressed the call button to summon the nurse and now gestured to the chair by the bed. "Just sit down. Someone will be here any second."

His words were proved correct as the night on-duty nurse appeared a few minutes later. After Steve explained the situation, while repeatedly shushing Danny's objections in the process, she fetched a doctor, an exam was given, and Danny soon found himself dressed in a similarly-hideous gown and parked in a bed next to Steve's, 'for observation.'

"I hate you so much," he grumbled as the nurse switched off the lights.

"No you don't." Steve might have been grinning in the dark, but Danny couldn't see it. "If you'd gone to your follow-up appointment like you were supposed to…"

"Whoa, wait just a second!" Danny protested. He was not about to bear the blame on that account. " _Who_ was supposed to take me to that follow-up appointment? _Who_ didn't want me driving until the doc cleared me for duty? That's on _you_ , not me!"

"You could've gotten Jerry to take you."

"While you were out getting attacked by Russians? I don't think so."

"You could've gone before you picked up sandwiches."

Danny groaned and rolled over. "Go to sleep, Steven."

But, despite the late hour- it was well past 2 am now- Danny felt wide awake. After several minutes of staring at the soft hall light reflected on the ceiling, he sighed. "Polka-dot, huh?" Danny called softly.

"Yeah." The mattress moaned slightly as Steve tried to adjust to a more comfortable position. "Apparently the hospital received a large donation of these. Or that's what the nurse in radiology said."

"We better be out of here by the time Chin and Kono get back. If they see me in this…" Danny fumbled for the bed controls and raised the head a few inches. He still didn't want to go to sleep, although he certainly _could_ have. "Hey Steve?"

"Yeah," Steve responded tiredly.

"I killed someone today." Danny paused. The concise statement was really too brief to communicate the distress he felt over the issue. "I mean, I killed a lot of people," he elaborated, frustrated as he tried to explain, "but one was… well, _different_." His voice drifted away when he stopped again, unsure how to continue. It bothered him deeply, yet death was death, so he was mystified why this particular kill stood out in his mind. Sighing, he continued, hoping that at some point his words would achieve some form of coherency and Steve would understand. "I used that move you taught me."

"Which move?"

"I snapped his neck." Danny couldn't help the small shudder that rippled down his spine at the memory of it. "Does it always sound like that?"

"Yeah." Steve's quiet confirmation wasn't as comforting as Danny had hoped. "I'm sorry, D."

"It's fine," Danny said tried to shrug it off with a confidence that he didn't quite feel. "Or it will be." Eventually. "Guess you've done it before?"

"Not often. If you end up in hand-to-hand, it's usually because something went FUBAR- either the op, the team, or your weapons- and you're royally screwed. So no, I don't do it often at all. Not if it can be helped."

"Oh." Danny sensed there was more to this explanation that Steve was letting on, but he didn't ask. There were some situations, like this one, when he knew not to. Still awake and not quite ready to close his eyes, he changed topics again. "So… the thumb drive."

"I can't talk about it, D. It's-"

"-classified. Yeah, yeah." Danny sighed. "It's just… it would be nice to know why I was shot at, kidnapped, tortured, and dropped off on a dormant volcano to freeze to death. And then shot at again and nearly died choking on smoke."

"I've already told you everything I can, Danny."

"Which is something about Russians and Chinese. I think I can put it together." Danny had been trying to sort out all the pieces while he waited in the lobby earlier that evening. "Mr. Ma stole information, top secret information- you didn't tell me that bit, but it makes sense. He's supposed to pass it off to the Russians, but our people find out and get him first. He hides the info, which is probably in a thumb drive or something, on the horse, hoping he can get to it later." Propping himself on one elbow, he peered through the darkness in Steve's direction. "How am I doing so far?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny…"

"Yeah, whatever." Danny leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "Let's see if I can get this part straight: the Russians found out about the horse, but Ma's wife leaked information to the Chinese, and somehow intel about the drugs was inadvertently leaked to the Indonesians and some other gangs. The Chinese agreed to help the Russians at first- which is why the Russians didn't show up till later- but the Russians double-crossed them and killed the team that kidnapped us and tortured me. Then they come to Five-0 and torture you, all to get that stupid thumb drive." He sighed. "My head hurts."

"That's the smoke."

"No, no I'm pretty sure it's not." He rolled over to face the window and was just drifting off when a new thought occurred to him. "Hey Steve?"

"Mmm?"

"The Russians double-crossing the Chinese- think we'll see any fallout from that?"

"Mmm."

"Steve?"

But Steve was asleep. Danny closed his eyes and listened to his partner's deep, even breaths, courtesy of some heavy pain medication. The bad guys were dead, the thumb drive was apparently safe, and the unicorn had been found. He was more than happy to put the case behind him and move on, but he could foresee an uncomfortable future fraught with retellings of their adventures to their absent teammates.

Danny needed a cover story. A good story, one that would explain the hospital visit and the injuries and the damage to the building and Steve's truck… but he was asleep before a decent explanation could come to mind.

 **A/N: Ended up taking some sick days, but it's hard to write when you're doped up on stuff. I see some authors on here that have posted stories from the hospital… I have no idea how you guys do that and don't have it sound like absolute gibberish. Kudos to you!**


	27. Chapter 27- Sunday evening

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. If a bug exists, we've had it in the past 2 weeks. Snot, cough, vomit, fever… I'm not even sure if it's one thing, or several back to back. Yurg. Anyway, thanks for the well-wishes! Y'all are the best!**

"Thanks for picking us up, Jer." Danny buckled the seatbelt and watched the tow truck exit the hospital parking lot ahead of them, pulling Steve's truck behind it. Apparently the damage hadn't been completely cosmetic and one of the stray bullets had somehow pierced some pipe or conduit somewhere, leaving a pool of liquid under the body. Danny guessed it had been slowly leaking all night, and so, when it failed to start, he had initiated Plan B.

"No problem. Although," Jerry eyeballed his cargo in the rearview mirror, "are you sure you should be leaving? You still look pretty rough."

"I'm good. Dunno about this Neanderthal here," Danny thumbed at Steve.

"Doc released me. Got the forms right here." Steve brandished the papers in one hand as he buckled the seat belt with the other.

"More like, you threatened to walk out and _then_ he released you," Danny muttered, sliding into the front seat. It was late Sunday afternoon and Steve had gradually worn the good doctor down with endless whining and complaining throughout the unlucky man's 30-hour shift until he finally agreed to sign the release papers with the understanding that Steve would call if anything changed for the worse. Danny intended to hold him to that promise.

"Where to?" Jerry asked, pulling out of the parking lot. "McGarrett's house, I presume?"

"Actually, the office."

"What?" Danny shook his head. "No, no, no, no. You promised the doc you would rest, in a bed. We're going to his house, Jerry."

"No, we're going to the office and _then_ my house."

"Why?"

"I need something."

"You need your head examined," Danny retorted. "What could you possibly need at the office?"

"It's a quick errand," Steve replied evasively. "Just a fast in-and-out. Then I'll go home and rest. Promise."

Danny rolled his eyes, already knowing he would give in just to avoid the incessant whining and pleading and inevitable sneaking-out that would occur otherwise. "Fine. A _short_ trip to the office. Very brief. Then home. And into bed. Okay?"

"Yeah."

"Promise?"

"Mmmm."

"Steven…"

…

But the trip to the office turned into more of an ordeal than Danny anticipated. The entire block was still cordoned off and he found himself flashing his badge multiple times to get past the blockades and yellow tape and into the restricted area.

Steve was also on crutches and moving at a snail's pace. After finally clearing the last of the checkpoints, Jerry pulled into the closest handicapped spot near the main doors, but it took an excruciatingly long time for the Navy SEAL to climb out of the van, balance carefully on his new hardware, and hobble toward the lobby.

"This is _such_ a bad idea," Danny muttered as they waited for the elevator. "Your doctor would be having a fit if he saw you right now."

"But he can't see me, so it doesn't matter," Steve offered helpfully as he maneuvered inside the small space and punched the button for the second floor with one crutch. "How're the lungs?"

"Good. They're good." Danny thumped his chest and _harrumphed_ for effect. "Residual tear gas in the air seemed to bother them, apparently, and he said I might be out of breath for the next week. But back to normal after that."

"Field duty?"

"He'll clear me when I go back with you for your check-up. Which I _will_ be on time for, by the way. Just said to know my limits."

"Good."

…

Steve retreated to his office- or the remains of it, Danny thought, as he surveyed the damage from his own, relatively-untouched space. It was obvious someone had been through Danny's office, but whereas it was simply untidy, Steve's appeared to be nearly destroyed.

At one point, Steve's phone rang and Danny overheard the governor's name before his partner stepped out to take the call. There was no privacy otherwise, since most of the glass in the windows was missing.

While he was talking, Jerry came back from inspecting his own workspace and announced that his mother called and he needed to go run an errand. Danny waved him off with a friendly _Mahalo_. Then, answering the call of curiosity, he strolled across the office and poked his head through Steve's door.

The door itself was intact, as were a handful of the windows, but glass littered the floor, couch, and desk, and a small pile had been swept up in one corner where someone had apparently been busy with a dustpan and broom. Side-stepping the pile, Danny approached the desk and studied the shelves behind it. The medals were strewn across the shelves and a few lay on the floor. The flag, which normally sat folded in a wood-and-glass case, twisted around the chair and trailed, unfurled, along the floor.

Danny frowned and gently folded it, settling it down in the remains of the wood case. Steve could sort it out later.

A few shards of dark plastic indicated the computer which once sat on Steve's desk was likely no more. Danny assumed the crime scene techs had bagged it and taken it with them for recovery, but it was unnecessary- all the important information was backed up to the cloud.

Sighing, Danny reached for the broom. It would take more than just the afternoon to clean this place up. He might as well get a head start.

…

When Steve finally finished the call- or calls, it seemed- it was sunset. He'd been in and out of the office during that time, wandering the building as he talked and listened- mostly listened- and was apparently put on hold for a while for reasons that Danny couldn't quite make out. Towards the end, he finally returned to the office and sat down, barely noticing the improvements Danny had made during his absence.

Now finished, Danny stood in the doorway for a moment, watching his friend silently. Steve sat at the desk, head resting on one hand, eyes closed, obviously exhausted. His right hand clutched at his left side, clearly in some amount of pain, and Danny wondered how long it had been since he had last taken his meds.

He cleared his throat and Steve jerked up, eyes flashing open. "Well?"

"What?"

"You ready to go home?"

"Yes," Steve began, but then his eyes travelled past Danny and focused on something behind him. He straightened stiffly. Danny turned.

"Gentlemen." Colonel Thule and an aide stood just outside the doorway. "Are we interrupting?"

"Depends," Danny growled. "You here to detain me again? Tell me I can't rescue my partner? That worked really well last time, in case you wondered."

The colonel fixed Danny briefly with a withering stare. "Commander McGarrett," he said abruptly, apparently choosing to ignore the detective, "so glad to see you're doing better."

Danny rolled his eyes.

"Thank you, sir." Steve shook the offered hand and frowned his unspoken question- or perhaps warning- to Danny, who merely shrugged. The full story would have to wait.

"I hope we're not interrupting?"

Danny heaved an audible and obviously exasperated sigh, but Steve pushed himself into a standing position and gestured toward the chairs, which had been returned to their original positions across from his desk. "No. Please. Have a seat."

"I'll just wait outside," Danny offered, moving toward the door, but was surprised when Steve stopped him.

"Stay, Danny. You're a part of this, too."

"I am?"

"He is?" Colonel Thule seemed equally surprised by this turn of events. "Commander McGarrett, if you've shared classified information with Detective Williams…"

"No sir," Steve interrupted quickly. "He doesn't know anything beyond what you authorized me to tell him."

"And that wasn't much," Danny muttered as he returned to his place by the desk. He was less than happy to be sharing the same airspace as the colonel and had little tolerance for man's holier-than-thou attitude. "Why, exactly, do you want me here, Steven?"

"My clothes… did you ever get them?"

Danny frowned at this odd change of topic. "Yeah. It took some bargaining with the lab at HPD, but I placed a few calls to Duke while you were busy on the phone." Hurrying back to his office, Danny pulled the oversized plastic evidence bags from his cabinet and deposited them onto Steve's desk. "Duke brought this by earlier. Don't know why you want this crap back; it's pretty much ruined, if you ask me," he added, wrinkling his nose.

Steve looked relieved. "I owe you one, Danny."

"I'll add it to your tab." Danny's bewilderment continued as Steve grabbed the bag containing his still-wet boots and struggled to tear it open. "What are you doing? Give me that." Neatly pulling the tab, he passed the bag back to his partner. "What does this have to do with the Russians, babe?"

"Every… thing…" Steve grunted, retrieving the left boot. Plunging his hand inside, he felt around for a moment before pulling out a tiny piece of metal and plastic. A small chip. It rested in his hand a moment, unassuming and innocuous. Then he thrust it toward the colonel. "There you go, sir. That's everything."

The colonel eyed the small chip in surprise. "Micro-SD."

"Not what we thought," Steve said grimly.

"Did you look at it?"

"Not enough time," Steve said with a short shake of his head. "I'd just found it when they stormed the office. I found it tucked inside the inner seam on the unicorn horn. I managed to get it out and stuff it into my boot without their noticing."

"And it was there the whole time…" the colonel mused softly.

 _The whole time he was beaten. And threatened. And tortured._ Danny finished the sentence mentally.

Pocketing the tiny SD card, Colonel Thule straightened and shook Steve's hand. "Thank you, commander. You've done your country a great service."

"That's it?" Thoroughly annoyed at the empty gesture, Danny stood and moved protectively to Steve's side. "He's tortured by terrorists and the best you can do is, ' _Your country thanks you_.'?" He wanted to add, _What about me? I was tortured to_. That omission only added insult to injury.

"It's fine, Danny." Steve's quiet response was not quite a warning, but more of a plea. _Drop it. Leave it alone_ , his look seemed to say, and he rubbed the weary lines beneath his eyes to subtly emphasize his point. The sooner Thule left, the sooner both of them could go to bed, but Danny wasn't about to let the colonel off that easy.

"No, it's not fine. You could have died, for Pete's sake! _I_ could have died! We risked our lives for some stupid little chip, which you can't tell us about, we were kidnapped, tortured, shot at, left to die on a volcano, Steve's truck is dead, and the best you can say is 'Thank you'? We don't even get gift cards!"

"Unfortunately, in cases of national security and where the situation is ongoing- we still have some of the Chinese to deal with- any kind of public declaration of thanks is out of the question," Thule explained.

"I get that, but ' _Your country thanks you_ ' is still ridiculous," Danny grumbled. Catching Steve's slight jerk of the head, he dropped the rest of his rant and quietly stowed it away for future use, should he ever encounter the colonel again. "Anything else?"

"That's it. I have what I need," Thule said, patting the pocket with the thumb drive. Gesturing to the man with him, he moved toward the door. "I'll let you get some rest. You've earned it."

"Thank you, sir." Steve remained ramrod straight in his chair, almost at attention, until the men had left the office, but as soon as the door shut behind them, he slumped with weariness.

He looked so exhausted and miserable that Danny felt the sudden urge to pick him up, put him to bed, and tuck him in as he might have done with Grace. He shook that thought away and noticed Steve's hand stretched toward him, his keys dangling from one hand.

"Danny… drive me home?" he pleaded.

Danny looked longingly at the proffered keychain but shook his head. "Truck's in the shop, remember? And my car's at home since you wouldn't let me drive."

Steve frowned at this unexpected obstacle. "Uber?"

Danny barked a short laugh. "We have to be back here in less than twelve hours anyway. You're the cheapskate with the disappearing wallet- do you really want to fork over money for an Uber? And in case you've forgotten, my wallet isn't here, either." Both were probably in an evidence locker somewhere, but HPD was mostly closed down for the evening, so Danny would have to retrieve them later.

Steve's shoulder's slumped. "So what do you suggest?"

"Well… How about pizza? The good stuff from Amina's, not that fruity crap from the place down the road. And," Danny's eyes searched the office as he threw his plan together, "there's a couple of spare blankets in my office. You take the couch in your office, I'll take the floor…"

"I'll take the floor." Steve was on board already. "And skip the blankets- I've got sleeping bags and foam mats in the storage locker."

"Of course you do," Danny rolled his eyes. "Why does this not surprise me? But you should be on the couch- you're the injured one. I mean, is all that-" he gestured to the bruising evident around the edges of Steve's T-shirt, "-going to be comfortable on a hard floor? You should just take the couch."

"I don't fit- remember Tuesday morning? Besides," he shrugged, "I've had worse. I'll be more comfortable on the floor, and you can fit on the couch."

"What about all the broken glass and crap?"

"CSU swept a bunch of it up, and," he held out a broom, "you can help me clean up the rest."

"Why do I get the feeling that 'help' means 'Danny does all the work'?"

"Cause I'm more injured?"

Danny rolled his eyes.

…

Some time later, both men were settled in their respective 'beds' in Steve's office. It was barely dark out, but after downing the better part of a pizza neither man could keep his eyes open. Danny had made sure Steve was situated and had taken his various medications before nestling down in his own sleeping bag on his partner's couch. The air conditioning wasn't repaired yet, but the glassless windows allowed for a cool breeze to drift in and Danny was surprised to find that it actually felt pleasant.

He flipped the lights off, appreciating the orange glow of the city nightlife through the half-drawn blinds. It really wasn't bad, he thought. A bit like camping, minus the campfire and s'mores.

Below him on the floor, Steve shifted restlessly.

"You good, babe?" With all of the bruising his partner had suffered, Danny couldn't imagine that he was comfortable at the moment.

"Yeah," Steve grunted. "Just sore."

"You take your meds?"

"Are you my mother?"

"Someone has to be." The quip was in poor taste and Danny wrinkled his nose unhappily as soon as he said it. "Seriously, babe: did you take the pills?"

A dramatic sigh issued from the sleeping bag on the floor. "Yes Danny. Two blue, one white, one cream. But takes them a while to kick in, so yeah, I'm a little sore."

Danny was sure that was an understatement, but he opted to keep his mouth shut on that account. "So… the governor. What did he want?" he tried instead.

Steve grimaced. He'd been hoping to postpone this conversation a little bit longer. "He's not happy."

"Not happy? We took down a major drug gang and foiled an international terrorist plot. What more does he want? The Taliban served up on a silver platter?"

"He's upset about me going over the fence."

"Oh. Is that it?"

"I trespassed, D. Plain and simple. And apparently the Secretary of the Navy called."

"I heard. But we found the Thing. Doesn't that make it okay?"

"Not really." Steve lapsed into silence.

Whatever it was, Danny thought, his partner's punishment for his hasty actions must be pretty severe. He mentally cursed Colonel Thule, who undoubtedly played some role in the discipline. "Well?" he finally prodded. "What's the verdict?"

"Desk duty. Two weeks."

Danny snorted. "That's it? That's hardly a slap on the wrist." The desk duty was hardly a surprise and was, if anything, a welcome reinforcement for the doctor's orders for rest and proper rehabilitation. Steve might not see it the same way, but Danny personally felt desk duty was a blessing in disguise. "Or is there more?" he added, catching Steve's unspoken grimace in the near dark.

But whatever else might have happened, Steve apparently wasn't willing to discuss it. "No, that's it," he lied, closing his eyes. "Tell me about Thule," Steve added, changing topics abruptly.

"What? Why?" The colonel was the last person Danny wanted to think about right now. He wanted to think happy thoughts about Grace and Charlie and sunshine and good beer, not stressful thoughts about a grumpy colonel who had let his power and position go to his head.

"Apparently you two butted heads. What happened?"

Danny heaved a sigh. Starting from the moment when he left Steve in the office with the unicorn, he outlined the events that had transpired, how the colonel had kept him in the truck and attempted to prevent him from reentering the building. He described stealing the SWAT outfit and sneaking through the window and along the bottom floor. He told Steve about taking out the Russians and then trying to rescue Steve, only to be detained again, apparently on Thule's orders. Danny tried to avoid mentioning his objections to the colonel's voice and face, which he found enormously annoying. Steve would just point out that such complaints were subjective and not the straight facts that he was looking for.

When Danny finished, it was quiet for a moment. Then the sleeping bag rustled and a warm hand closed suddenly over his own. "Thanks, Danny. For everything."

Danny blinked. "Sure," he said huskily. "Any time."

"And sorry you had to go through all of that for me."

"It just would've been nice to have a SEAL throwing his weight around instead of an inferior mainland detective," Danny grunted. "The one time I wish you were there to pull rank, and you're not."

"Wouldn't have worked."

"Well, you could've gone all Navy SEAL on his ass, then, and gotten him to leave me the hell alone." Danny paused. "Maybe you could still do that?" he added hopefully.

Steve grunted. Another silence passed between them. As Steve shifted again on the floor, Danny's thoughts drifted back to the list of injuries and he recalled image of Steve kneeling in the back of the ambulance.

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"You know you can talk to me, right?"

"What do you want to know, Danny?"

"Who says I want to know anything?"

"Because whenever you tell me that, you have awkward questions to ask. So," Steve sighed resignedly, "ask away."

Danny hesitated. "When you were… I mean… when I saw you in the ambulance," he fumbled, struggling to find the right way to phrase it. Steve waited him out patiently. "You didn't have any clothes on," Danny finished bluntly.

"I had my boxers."

"That doesn't really count."

Steve knew the _other_ question being posed, the one hidden behind Danny's simple observation. "Nothing happened, Danny. I'm okay."

"You say that all the time. ' _I'm okay, I'm fine, Nothing wrong_.'"

"And in this case, it's true: nothing happened except some punching and bruising."

"The doc said they had to wash urine out of your hair. That doesn't sound okay to me."

Steve grimaced. "One of the blows caught me in the bladder. It caused a sudden release."

"In your _hair_?"

"Do you want the play-by-play?"

"I dunno. Maybe."

"Nothing happened. We were fighting in the locker room shower. The drain was clogged, I got hit, fell, and ended up swimming in the mess."

Danny processed this information slowly. "And your clothes?"

"Soaked with the tear gas. I couldn't breathe." Knowing Danny would require a more thorough explanation, he continued, "They needed information from me, and I couldn't speak because I was coughing so badly, so they stripped me and threw me into the shower. That's how I wound up wet in the first place."

"And that's it?"

"Yes." And to put any lingering doubts to rest, he added firmly, "I promise."

"Nothing else?"

Danny quieted. In the absence of the droning air conditioner, Steve could hear him breathing, steady, short breaths. Realizing his partner wasn't yet ready to fall asleep, Steve decided to ask a question of his own.

"How's the horse?" After spending the better part of the week searching for it, he was curious where the animal had ended up.

"Alive and doing well, which according to the vet is nothing short of a miracle." Rolling over and snagging his phone off the desk, Danny scrolled through the notes he had taken when talking to Duke. "Lilith suffered some minor cuts and lacerations from the glass when your Russian buddies kindly blew out of the window, and the vet isn't sure whether there's any lasting damage from the flash bangs, but she's moving around without pain and eating fine, so that's a plus."

"And the drugs?"

"Capsules, in her stomach. No clue how they got them in there in the first place. Swallowed, I guess. The biggest surprise was that the plastic on the capsules didn't break. If they had, bye-bye horsey. As it is, the Animal ER was able to get everything out and turned the evidence over the HPD."

"Good," Steve said even though it would mean more paperwork for Five-0 later. Still, with several weeks of desk duty in the foreseeable future, he was certain he'd have ample time to type up a proper case report. "And your arm?"

Danny almost laughed. It seemed like ages since he had been shot Tuesday afternoon. "I've added a new scar to the collection, but otherwise good." As he spoke, he flexed his bicep and felt the light pull of fresh scar tissue just under the skin. "And no lasting physical damage from those morons who tried to drown me," he added.

He didn't mention the psychological damage, which had already given rise to a new and terrifying brand of nightmares that would likely haunt his sleep for the foreseeable future, nor his sudden aversion to taking a bath. He didn't doubt that Steve would probably suffer something similar, having already seen the after-effects of various missions on the battle-hardened SEAL before. If they both made it through the night without waking, it would be a miracle.

…

Danny had just drifted off when his phone buzzed. Plucking it from the desk, he was annoyed to see that it was barely 9:30 p.m. A quick glance showed him Steve was asleep and snoring softly, but Danny couldn't think of a good way to slip out of the office without waking him. He answered as quietly as he could, his voice heavy with sleep. "Williams."

"Danny? Why you whispering, brah?"

"Kono?"

"Yeah. And Chin. You're on speaker. We just got back."

"Oh." It was the only thing he could think to say.

"You okay? You sound kind of tired."

"Yeah." Danny rubbed his eyes to alleviate some of the burning.

"Were you sleeping?" Chin asked, apparently more attuned to Danny's voice than his cousin. "Are you okay? It's a bit early, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we're okay. Just tired," Danny answered honestly. Still rubbing his eyes, he tried to think of a good explanation for his weariness. An explanation that did not involve unicorns and polka-dot hospital gowns. "Long day. Busy." He looked down at the dark sleeping bag curled around his body. "Camping."

"Camping? With Steve?" Kono chuckled. "No wonder you're worn out."

"We won't keep you," Chin added. "Just wanted to check in. We'll see you guys in the morning."

"Yeah. Okay." And Danny hung up. As he lay back down, however, part of the conversation replayed in his mind and he shook his head. "Stupid Williams," he chided himself. " _Camping._ What were you thinking?" And then sleep claimed him.

…

 **A/N: Not so random question: anyone have a bad aversion to cockroaches? This is important.**

 **Final chp + epilogue next week!**


	28. Chapter 28- Epilogue

**A/N: I had a much longer epilogue written but it just didn't work, so I've dumped all that into the Deleted Scenes and I'm just posting my original epilogue instead. Deleted scenes will be posted over the next several days as I have time.**

 **Much thanks to Cubit2 for her encouragement on several chapters. Also much thanks to my reviewers- especially those of you who consistently review week after week! You guys are awesome!**

 **EDIT: Sorry, just added the missing Monday scene!**

Monday morning:

Whatever Chin had expected to see when he and Kono arrived at the office, miles of police tape, bomb dogs, and a frightening amount of debris were not it. He had little to say as he and his cousin exited the car and stared in surprise at their beloved office building… or, rather, what seemed like the remains of it.

"You don't think Steve got bored and actually blew it up, do you?" Kono broke the silence, eyeing a large pile of destruction on the lawn. "Because I was kidding about it when we were on the beach."

"No…" but his tone remained doubtful. Chin didn't _think_ Steve would blow up an iconic government landmark on purpose, but given his penchant for explosives and the boredom Danny had expressed over the phone, he felt like some kind of accident could be possible.

Following Kono inside and up the stairs, he was pleasantly surprised to note that much of the interior was intact. There was some scattered glass and piecemeal junk, but overall the damage wasn't bad.

The office, however, was a different story. Chin and Kono ducked under yet another round of police tape, opened the doors, and stopped in shock.

The place was in shambles. Glass, dirt, and dust littered the floor, along with the remnants of various electronics and office supplies. Some of it had been swept into little piles, and there were defined pathways leading from door to door, but the carnage was overwhelming. Papers and files and cabinets were scattered recklessly throughout the space, the large screen in the bullpen was broken and…

"Is that a bullet hole?" Kono bent over, examining the crater in the floor. "It is!" Startled, she looked around the office again with fresh eyes. "Is that blood?"

Chin, who had been assessing the damage to his own office, hurried over at these words. However, as he crossed the room, he noticed something else and gave Kono a sudden nudge. Holding a finger to his lips, he crept toward the boss's door and peered inside.

The office had been swept out and was cleaner than the rest of the place, but it was also obvious from the piles of trash outside (and the relative emptiness of the room inside) that his office had borne the brunt of the damage. But it wasn't the paneless windows or empty shelves that caught Chin's eye, but rather the two figures lying prone in dark green sleeping bags.

Tapping Kono's shoulder, he pointed to Steve, who was closest, and indicated the small bracelet around his wrist. 'Hospital,' he mouthed silently.

Kono, in turn, pointed to Danny. A similar piece of jewelry adorned his wrist and a pile of pill bottles sat on the desk behind them.

The cousins retreated.

"Camping?" Chin recalled quietly when they were safely out of earshot.

Kono snorted.

"Are they lying?" Chin asked, looking around, not quite believing what his eyes were seeing.

"Lying, definitely," Kono returned. Seizing a newspaper from the waste bin, she held up Sunday's headline. No words were necessary as the picture featured their very own Commander astride a white horse, galloping down the streets. The photo was obviously taken from a traffic or security camera in the vicinity, and Chin chuckled as he read the caption underneath. _Mysterious Explosion at the Palace_. And beneath it: _Possible terrorist incident? HPD says 'No comment.'_

"Never a dull moment, eh?" he said, but Kono had disappeared. A moment later, there was a snort and she emerged from the breakroom with a strange contraption in one hand.

"Um, cuz? What happened to the coffee pot?"

 _Epilogue:_

Steve stared at the small, black thumb drive in his hand. So small, so innocuous… He had lied to Thule when the Colonel asked him whether he'd had a chance to view the files. " _Not enough time,"_ Steve had said, but that was a lie. He'd found the microSD hours ago when he first located the horse wandering through a grassy field southeast of Oahu, and he'd removed it and hidden it then. Upon returning to the office, he immediately copied it, and then, right after Danny left with the governor, he transferred both the original and the copy to his boots. One in the left; the other in the right.

Now at home and alone, he studied the small piece of plastic and metal that had caused so much destruction and havoc.

"Curiosity killed the cat," he muttered, turning it over between his fingers. But still…

He took it into the study and stared for a long time at his computer while an inner war waged over his next decision. He finally pushed the drive into the USB slot.

And immediately pulled it out again.

Danny would kill him. Danny would kill him _if_ Danny ever actually saw him again, and that was unlikely considering the warning Thule had given him in the bunker under the grassy hill. If anyone had the power to make him disappear forever, it was likely Thule.

Sighing, he walked down to the beach and sat in the sand, the device still in his hand. He should never have made the copy. The temptation was almost overwhelming. He should just toss it into the ocean and be done with it. He could do it now, in fact- the vast waters of the Pacific washed against his backyard; it would certainly be easy enough.

But something stopped him.

A faint, nagging sensation. A small worry that, like his mother's microfiche, this could provide some form of protection in the future. A guarantee of safety from higher powers.

He tucked the thumb drive into his pocket and went back inside. He stared at the rug in the living room for a moment. Then he sighed.

Bending down, he lifted the rug and rolled it back. The boards underneath were old and worn with age, their finish faded and chipped after decades of use. Steve flicked his pocket knife open and gently prodded one board where a small scrape marred the edge. Doris had shown him this spot several years ago, not willingly, of course, and as far as Steve knew, only he and his mother were aware of it. He needed to fix and sand the small scrape- it was too obvious now- but that would be a good summer project.

The board popped free, and Steve shone his flashlight into the gap. The space under the boards was dark and musty, but relatively clean. No signs of rats or rodents to run off with his precious cargo. He carefully nestled the small device down in the crevice. The he dropped the board back into its spot, replaced the rug, and stepped back.

"Just in case," he muttered, studying his handiwork. "Just in case…"

 **A/N: I started a short story about Steve's week of community service. (Needless to say, it doesn't go as planned.) I've also got a short story involving cockroaches, and a possible sequel to the Bunker, plus a mystery story involving Chin. Haven't decided which one to do next, but going on a short hiatus for the moment.**


	29. Chapter 29- Deleted Scenes 1

**IMPORTANT! If you read the Epilogue before 10am Eastern time last Saturday, you probably missed the Monday Morning scene. I've added it (sorry about that), so the epilogue is now complete.**

 **These are scenes from the final chapter that got cut for whatever reason.**

"So this is 'camping.'" A grinning Kono nudged Danny with her foot as the Detective blinked blearily in the early morning sunlight. "I didn't realize 'camping' could be so hazardous."

"Or involve so many bullets," Chin added as he held up a shell casing.

Both cousins were speaking softly, but Danny saw a phone being discreetly tucked into a pocket and guessed that blackmail material had already been taken. He groaned. Rolling over, he saw Steve still asleep on the floor near the desk, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. Careful not to step on his partner, he slowly extricated himself from his sleeping bag and gestured for the cousins to follow him to the break room, where their voices were less likely to be heard.

"Well?" Impatient, Kono tapped her foot restlessly against the table leg while Danny tiredly patted his pockets for spare change for a coffee. Chin, finally taking mercy on him, popped several quarters into the machine. With a grateful nod, Danny took the small cup and plopped down at the table, deliberately avoiding Kono's stare.

"Well?" Kono tried again. "What happened?"

"What happened?" Danny snorted softly as he shook his head. "What _didn't_ happen is a better question." He blew gently on the open cup and allowed his mind a moment to wander while ripples spread across the surface. Then he took a tentative sip. "It started with a unicorn."

"This unicorn?" Kono slid the newspaper in front of him and Danny found himself face-to-face with his partner astride the dusty, no-longer-white mare, hurtling through downtown Honolulu. "Nice shot, by the way."

"Yeah, I wasn't there for that bit."

"Because you were in the hospital?" Chin asked with a nod to the bracelet peeking around Danny's sleeve.

"No. Not that time." He shook his sleeve down over the plastic band. "I was picking up lunch, actually."

"So how did Steve end up on a unicorn? And how'd you end up in the ER?"

"Which time?"

Chin and Kono exchanged a look. "Brah… How many times were you admitted in the past week?"

"Uh…" Danny counted quickly on his fingers. "Three. I think." He took another sip of coffee. "Yeah, three."

"Going for a record?" Chin asked drily.

"What about bossman?" Kono asked, gesturing back toward the office where Steve was still sleeping. "If you were admitted three times, then he must've been in the hospital at least five."

"Oh, he was only in there once." Danny could see from their raised eyebrows that the cousins didn't quite believe him. He wasn't surprised. On any other day, such a scenario was implausible at best. "He probably should've gotten checked out after Mauna Kea, but…"

"Mauna Kea?"

"Yeah. That was my second time. Exposure, hypothermia-"

"Wait, what? When was that?"

Despite his weariness, Danny grinned. He loved a good story, and right now Steve wasn't here to interrupt and 'correct' him. "That was Thursday. Steve may have gotten checked out at Hilo, but he wasn't admitted with me."

"Hang on. How'd you end up taking down a Russian terrorist cell- or whatever the heck this was- if you two spent half the week in the hospital?" Kono asked, skimming the article for clues. "It doesn't say much about what happened."

"That's because it's classified." It felt so good to say that. After years of hearing Steve throw the word around with an almost haughty carelessness, Danny couldn't help the enjoyment and satisfaction of saying it himself. (Of course, the downside, he suddenly realized, was that he _couldn't_ say some things, even if he wanted to, which meant the story was going to have some holes.)

"Come on- that's Steve's line," Chin put in, almost impatiently. "What did you guys get into?"

"And start at the beginning," Kono added quickly. "How did it begin? When did you first end up in the hospital? Go in order."

"Fine. It started with a call about a unicorn loose along the H3." Danny described the events of that day, but he left out Daniel Ma….

…

"…then Chinese guy waterboarded me-"

" _You?_ "

"What? You think only Steve is important enough to be tortured?" Slightly miffed at Kono's skeptical expression, Danny pulled the small (and brand new) inhaler from his pocket and showed it off like a war trophy. "Why else would I have this?"

"So what did they want?" Kono asked, but a new voice answered for him.

"Information about the unicorn." Leaning heavily on his cane, Steve appeared in the doorway and limped into the room, lowering himself gingerly into the nearest chair. "And technically, I _was_ being tortured. They were beating you up to extract information from me."

Kono grimaced in sympathy. "Somehow I think that sounds worse."

Danny waved him off. "Quit stealing my thunder. This is my story."

"Oh really? And what, I just played a supporting role while the Great Daniel Williams saved the day?"

"Yes."

Steve made a loud scoffing noise while Chin chuckled. Kono stood.

"Where are you going?" Danny asked.

"Popcorn," Kono thumbed toward her office. "Need snacks for the entertainment."

 _3 days later_

"So…" Chin set two non-alcoholic beers in the sand and dropped into the chair next to Steve's. "Howzit?"

"Not bad. Better if I could have a longboard."

"Brah, we both know you can't have those with your current meds."

"Yeah, yeah." Steve wrinkled his nose at the fake beer, but popped the cap off anyway.

"I'm not bad, I guess. No lasting bladder or kidney damage, cuts and bruises are healing nicely."

Chin eyed the crutches that lay in the sand between them. "And the leg?"

"Hurts," Steve admitted. He leaned back and studied the waves. "Have to do physical therapy to help with the muscle damage. Doctor estimates at least two weeks before I can think about being in the field."

"Good thing you're already on desk duty, then." Chin was running the task force temporarily at both Steve and Danny's request. He'd been initially concerned Danny told him- in front of a very disgruntled Steve- that the Commander was benched for two weeks. With Danny not quite at 100%, Chin was worried the task of keeping their leader inside and compliant with the order would fall to him, but the injury had nicely taken care of it instead. His mouth twitched in amusement at Steve's annoyed frown. "How's Danny?" he asked.

Steve shrugged. "I dunno, Chin. He's struggling, but he hasn't told me. I think he's embarrassed."

"Why would he be embarrassed? You two are best friends."

"I'm a decorated war hero who's been through shit and come out the other side looking 'perfectly fine.' Danny's not there yet. In his mind, what he went through in New York isn't the same. He doesn't have the same faith in himself that he puts in me."

"How do you know Danny's struggling?"

"Saw him in the locker room after training." Steve had watched from the sidelines earlier that day while the other three teammates sparred on the practice mats. "He was cleaning up at the sink."

"What do you mean?"

"He was showering at the sink, Chin. Washcloth, soap, shampoo- the works. Didn't want to take a real shower. I asked."

"Waterboarding?"

Steve shrugged.

"You talk to him?"

"Right then? That's just awkward, brah."

Chin chuckled. "So later, then. Maybe he'd do better with a bath."

"Maybe." Steve rubbed the bottle back and forth between his fingers. "He needs to talk to someone."

"Doesn't he have to do at least one session anyway?" Chin asked. "Department policy, remember?"

"Yeah. But this is gonna take more than just one session, I think. I just don't know if he'll listen to me when I suggest it."

"So, what if you two go together?

Steve hadn't considered this. In reflection, he wasn't sure why he hadn't considered it. Almost everything that happened that week, they had been through together, so it would make sense for them to attend at least one session together. Steve's own policy-mandated session was fast approaching- why not take Danny with him?

"Yeah…" It was a solid idea, and easily disguised as an apology for not taking him to his checkup the previous week. Danny could gracefully acquiesce without feeling guilty over some self-perceived weakness, and Steve would be there to help. "I'll do that. Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

 **…**

"Commander McGarrett?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Regarding the matter you brought to our attention: there is an active investigation with possible charges pending against your person of interest. Dereliction of duty and due diligence for now… there may be more. I can't say anything else at the moment. And this information is completely off-the-record."

"I understand. Thank you, sir."

Hanging up, Steve looked at the time on his phone. 10:05 p.m. Danny would still be up; he could call and tell him.

But… he hesitated. Danny technically wasn't supposed to know. Steve groaned in frustration. Danny deserved to know… hell, he deserved a lot more than that, but Steve couldn't tell him. Regulations were regulations and even Steve knew better than to flaunt this particular rule. His contact had taken a risk in calling him; Steve would be a fool to put himself or his contact in danger by releasing information.

Steve waged an internal battle for several minutes, his fingers scrolling absently through his contacts as he debated his next move. Finally settling on a middle-of-the-road response, he placed the call.

"Hey D?" Steve wasn't sure Danny had picked up at first; all he heard was a muffled rustling sound that might have been static. Then:

"Steven, what the…" His voice rough with sleep, Danny was apparently already in bed and Steve grimaced guiltily. "Steven, it is after 10 p.m. This had better be good."

"Just wanted to tell you that I took care of things."

"Things? What things?" The bed creaked as Danny sat up. "And what do you mean, you'took care of' them?" he asked suspiciously.

Tired and on the verge of irritability, Danny was probably not in the mood to figure out subtext, and Steve wasn't comfortable telling him outright over the phone. Steve sighed.

"Nevermind."

"You can't 'nevermind' your way out of a statement like that, Steven. I may be tired, but I'm awake now, so spill: what did you do?"

"Nothing. I didn't do anything, D. Go back to sleep."

"Bull. What did you do?"

"Nothing!"

"Do I need to call Doris?"

Steve took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He counted to five.

"Steven?"

Steve released his breath slowly. "Danny, I just called to let you know that… that your friend has run into legal issues. He won't be around for the next case."

"My friend? Which friend?"

He was too tired to even catch the sarcastically-veiled hint. Steve threaded a hand through his hair. "Your _friend_. My _friend_. The one involved with the fence."

Pause. "Oh. _Oh._ _That_ friend." Another pause. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing. He just ran into legal issues. That's all."

"Uh huh."

"Honest, Danny. Please go to sleep."

"Fine. But only because I need my strength so I can interrogate you for better answers in the morning."

"Good. You do that." The line went dead and Steve knocked the phone against his head. _Stupid. Stupid call._ It would come back to bite him at some point; Steve was sure of that.

But he grinned. Even if someone did find out, Danny would still have the last laugh. Steve wished he could see Thule's face. It wouldn't be smug and serious any more. _Colonel High-and-Mighty_ Danny had nicknamed him the other day. They needed a new nickname. _Colonel Court Martial_ had a nice ring to it.

…

 **(This is a separate version of the retelling scene where Kono finally gets the story on what happened. I liked both, but ultimately decided to cut both from the final draft.)**

"So brah. This horse…"

"That's a unicorn." Danny peered over Kono's shoulder at the newspaper spread on the makeshift plywood table in the bullpen of the office. He brushed a few malasada crumbs off the paper as he took another bite of his malasada and pointed to the horn dangling from its neck. "See? Unicorn."

"And why is the boss riding it?"

"Because he was being chased by Russians." With Steve gone on an errand with Chin, Danny was free to embellish the story as much as he wanted but, oddly enough, the facts seemed more than enough for a thrilling, if confusing, retelling of the events.

"But you said the Chinese waterboarded you."

"Yeah. And some local gang shot me."

"So where do the Russians fit in?"

"See _that_ is why you and Chin need to come to Steve's tonight. We'll tell you the whole story then."

"So why aren't you in this picture?"

"Because I had to run out and pick up lunch. Next thing I know, that crap is going down," Danny jabbed a sugary finger at the picture, "and there are Russians shooting tear gas everywhere."

"Brah, why didn't you call us?"

"You were at a wedding!"

Kono scowled and Danny pulled a look of innocence as he reached into the bag for another malasada.

"I mean, we thought about it, but it didn't seem serious at first- just a lost horse, you know? And then it kept growing and getting crazier and crazier…"

"At what point _would_ you have finally called us? When one of you died? Would it take both of you being unconscious in the ER before someone decided to notify us that our _team_ was in danger?"

"You know what?" Danny deliberately spoke with his mouth full, scattering sugar across the table. "I think you're jealous. You had to go to some boring wedding while Steve and I got to handle our most thrilling case in ages."

"Oh, I am _not_ jealous, brah. And I bet you were not this smug when you were freezing your butt off on Mauna Kea." She eyed him critically. "But maybe I should be worried about your mental health since you seem to be enjoying this?"

"I'm not enjoying it," Danny lied easily. "I've just decided to adopt a little Zen into my life." He mimed a meditation pose but wavered when part of his malasada broke off and hit the floor.

Kono punched him lightly in the arm, eliciting a sharp, "Ow!"

"Very zen," she winked.

…

( **This was fun to write but does not at all reflect how disciplinary action would take place and I was too lazy to do more research, so I cut it.)**

"McGarrett."

"I hope now is a good time?"

Glancing at the bullpen to be sure his team was occupied, Steve swiveled his chair away from the open blinds. "Yes, sir, Governor. What can I do for you, sir?"

"I'm glad you asked."

Although he'd known this moment was coming, Steve still couldn't help the uncomfortable knot that suddenly formed in his stomach. He stood abruptly and began to pace the room. If only he had known that ignoring the _"No Trespassing"_ sign would have such consequences… but that was the point of this phone call. He had flaunted the rules. He knew better, and now it was time to pay the price. "What's the verdict, sir?"

"Well, that depends. Are you back on your feet?"

"Yes, sir."

"Your C/O from the Navy called and we discussed some options. It's an unusual case in that both Five-0 and the military had jurisdiction over certain aspects of this case, and we both have jurisdiction over you. Admiral Tully says he is more than happy to discipline your actions through the appropriate naval channels…However, since you were officially acting as a member of Five-0, and since we both feel any traditional disciplinary actions would be ineffective on you, we've decided to try something else."

Steve waited. After being paired with Grover several years ago, he had come to realize that Denning could be creative in discipline and rigid in his expectations. Whatever the consequences would be, he hoped it was something manageable and not overly embarrassing.

"We've decided that you seem to have trouble following the rules. You've been leading Five-0 for nearly 8 years now. You seem to have forgotten what it is like to work under someone and to have to obey their rules."

"Are you asking me to step down?"

"No, although you may need to do so temporarily. You're going to be doing some community service."

Volunteer work. Great. "Where?"

"Makapu'u Elementary School. You'll be working with their after-school care program. You can spend the mornings with Five-0, but I expect you to report to the school no later than 1 p.m."

"Yes sir."

But Denning wasn't finished. "This takes precedent, do you understand? I don't care if you have a case, or there's a nuclear bomb about to go off, or the whole Taliban is on the island wreaking havoc- let your team handle it and be at the school at one. Am I clear?"

"Yes sir." Very clear. "How long, sir?"

"You'll be there for one week starting Monday. After that, I'll see how things go."

Steve grimaced unhappily at the order, but he wasn't about to argue. "Yes sir. Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me yet. Children are experts at subverting, twisting, and bending the rules. I figured a little taste of your own medicine might do you some good. Just keep in mind, you can't interrogate a child or use any of your other methods that you think I don't know about. You'll be limited in what you can and cannot do to keep them in line."

"Yes sir." Like he would do any of that to a child. Except for Grace's boyfriend, of course.

"You'll be working under one of the teachers at the school. I expect you to follow his or her every instruction to the letter."

"Yes sir."

"Don't mess this up."

"I won't, sir."

There was a pause and Steve sensed a slight hesitation on the other end. "I hope you learn something from this little vacation. Good luck, Commander."

"Thank you, sir."

 **A few more scenes coming soon. I'm thinking my Cockroach story will be next.**


End file.
